LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

%p — (iup^risi^i :f u 

Shelf ..X. J 6 3 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



?WLy 7 



ONLY GLIMPSES. 



BY 



Mr L. McMURPHY, 



Go, untried Messenger, and win a we'come for yourself by bearing to each heart sonne 
fancy that shall waken pleasing memoriesi 




1887. 
RACI]S^E, WISCOXSIX. 



«DVOGATE STEAM PRINT. 



.^^ 



THE LIBRARV 
or CONGRESS 

WASHINGTON 



^Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1887, by Mrs. M. L. Mc- 
MiJRPHY, in the office o^ the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 






TO 



Mrs. J. F. MINOR, 

Whose love for all that is beautiful and good, whose un- 
tiring interest in acquiring information and whose 
sunny, sympathetic nature made her a charming 
travelling companion, the author dedi- 
cates this little volume. 



CHAPTER I. 

Bon voyage ! Bon voyage ! The happy, good wish 
came from many lips as the steamer Noordland slowly 
left the dock, and with seeming reluctance turned her 
bows seaward. What a rush to gain a point of ad- 
vantage, to see the last fading lines of the native shore ! 
The heauty of our little band, generally bright and 
joyous, looked shoreward over the widening deep, with 
smiles and tears. 

"You have seen 

Sunshine and rain at once ; her smiles and tears 
Were like a better day ; those happy smilets, 
That played on her ripe lips, seemed not to Icnow 
What guests were in her eyes." 

Scott's sentiment, "This is my own, my native land," 
finds an echo in every heart, when one is about to place 
the stormy ocean between home and herself. 

We were, however, a merry company, full of happy 
anticipations to be realized in '4a belle France et la 
belle Italic aussi." 

A golden land of promise was before us and, with 
brave hearts, we began our "watery waiting." The 
arrangement of state rooms, the opening of packages 
to prepare for steamer liie, occupici our time and atten- 



tion until we took our places in the dining salon for the 
first dinner of our trip. One eagerly scans the faces of 
her companions, that she may determine something of 
the character of those who, like herself, are here for two 
weeks "for better or worse" — often times little of better 
and a great deal of worse. Among the faces of the 
eighty passengers, none attracted so much as the 
reverend and benign countenance of the "Author of the 
Old Roman World." It is a joy to find an author's 
appearance corresponding to his writings, or rather to 
your preconceived notion of him. This veteran writer 
of world-wide reputation perfectly combines simplicity 
and grandeur in his manner, and the merry twinkle of 
his keen, blue eyes shows a love of humor rich and 
inexhaustible. One first survey of our fellow travellers 
Avas very satisfactory, and it was with gladness that we 
felt ourselves to be a part of such distinguished company. 
The remembrance of the first meal taken on ship board, 
at the beginning of an ocean voyage, is dear to every 
traveller. It differs so entirely from those of succeeding 
days, that the law of contrast heightens the excellence 
of that initial repast. 

There are a few unfortunate beings who find great 
satisfaction in diff'ering from the mass : they enjoy 
equally all meals, and, like malicious fiends, smile with 
an air of irritating superiority as one atter another, with 
accelerated step, leaves the dining room, and seeks the 
state room or the deck. 



3 

Misery likes company and equally detests a happy 
spectator. 

The question, "Is it right for any sane person to have 
a happy face, to be agreeable, and to eat four meals 
during every day of a sea voyage ? " was ably discussed 
by the keen thinkers upon this voyage. It was decided,, 
by a large majority, in the negative, but unfortunately 
the minority were in much better physical condition, 
than the opposing party and numbered among them- 
selves the learned divine. The mass had to yield, in 
appearance, to great muscular force supported by the 
spiritual. The second day of our voyage was Sunday, 
and those, whose dizzy heads would permit, gathered in 
the dining salon to listen to a delightful sermon upon the 
text, "Ail is Vanity." It gladdened our hearts that 
our learned doctor's opinion was quite unlike that of 
Solomon, and that he attributed this expression to the 
wise old King in the least satisfactory period of his life. 

Discussion of the sermon, reading, strolling about 
the deck, filled the remaining hours of Sunday. We had 
begun to be interested in our travelling companions, to 
desire to know them and to enjoy their conversation. 

We formed a world by ourselves, borne through the 
waves as the planets above us through the air. A per- 
fect epitome of society upon terra firma is shown upon 
ship-board. As one sits dreamily watching the faces 
about him, observing the little things, which are of 
great importance upon a vessel, character unfolds before 



him and he weaves romances of certain persons around 
him. As the days sped on, we tested the patience of 
our escort by our repeated calls to be tucked in, for 
every lady, when she can not stroll about the deck, poses, 
as .one of our party suggested, like a "mummy." 

Resting in one's steamer chair, carefully wrapped in 
rugs and furs, with the "level brine" stretching far off 
to meet the blue dome above, with the graceful sea gulls 
darting hither and thither or poising on even wing above 
the masts, it is easy to slip away to realms of fancy. 
Far off a ripple breaks the calm surface and we almost 
see '''Sleek Panope" glide above the glistening water 
and with far reaching eye seek out her sisters wandering 
in their play over Neptune's plain. /\Ve listen to the 
breaking of the waves against the ship, and the 
sound to us is like the dropping of the water in Mor- 
pheus' cave far below where "mortals ken." 

The spirit of the drowsy god seemed creeping over us, 
when, on our left, a merry voice exclaimed, "Too quiet 
here, come try a hand at shuffle-board." Refusal not 
accepted, we were initiated into the mysteries of this 
gymnastic game. A spectator remarked, "Not very 
intoxicating sport, but enough to keep off sea-sickness." 

Some of our party became quite fascinated with this 
novel game, and proved themselves to be. experts in 
"long range shots." The morning following our first 
indulgence in shuffle-board found us all afflicted with 
rheumatism in the right arm and shoulder. From the 



upper berth, came a gentle voice with a faint note of 
complaint, — and rare it was to hear a querulous tone 
from her, whose 

^'Manner modest, gentle, sweet, 
Bat shadows forth a life complete 
In goodness and eke virtue,"— 

''I have rheumatism in my right shoulder ; there must 
be a draft here. It's horrid." A sympathetic voice replied, 
''I have rheumatism too in my right shoulder and arm 
also." A third sleepy voice was heard saying, "I can't 
move my right arm without feeling a twinge of rheumat- 
ics." When we met later, on deck, the three remaining 
members of our party, and were discussing the peculiarity 
of ship rheumatism, which seemed to affect only the right 
biceps and its immediate neighbors, a veteran ocean- 
traveller standing near, politely, but with an air of 
conscious superiority, remarked, "Too much shuffle- 
board, ladies." Rheumatism ! Ah! well, we were novices 
and content that others should be merry over our 
blunders, making, however, the mental reservation that 
*"he laughs best who laughs last." Hardly were we 
"mummified" for the morning, ready to read our daily 
letters, which the thoughtfulness of kind home friends 
had prepared, when the bright, merry-making, mischief- 
loving Puck appeared. "A game of shuffle-board is 
wanted. We need two ladies. 'Two of both kinds 
make up four.' " "No, no," we replied, "we have already 
shuffle-board enough in the right arm !" Our ready- 
witted Puck exclairxicG, "Similia similibus curantur. 'Up 



and down, Up and down,' no excuses valid," and two 
of our party walked away with the indefatigable, happy 
Puck of the Noordland. The memory of this bright and 
winsome natur*^, whose joyous spirit made many a weary 
hour pass happily, and whose ever ready helpfulness- 
could always be trusted to assist one out of the little 
difficulties that will often arise, will remain with us a& 
long as aught of the past can be recalled. During the 
pleasant days, our ship presented a busy scene. 

Charming, graceful girls, playing shuffle board, or 
throwing grace-hoops, gray-haired gentlemen absorbed in 
chess, bright-faced misses running about the deck in un- 
conscious attractiveness, thoughtful matrons talking, read- 
ing, or indulging w^ith whist- loving gentlemen in a quiet 
game, scholars poring over German or French books, and 
"wee ones," creeping in and out among the chairs and 
wraps, the pets of all, these formed a perfect study for 
the artist who sees "poetry in motion." 

Over the ocean's broad expanse, the moonLght shed 
its silver radiance, making the scene at night like one 
from fairy land. Long we lingered reluctant to go 
below and leave a scene so witching in its soft and mellow 
light. 

The calm, mild days caused us to feel a trust that 
we had not felt before in the Old Ocean. A change came 
over the untroubled deep. No longer quiet reigned. 
The salt spray dashed across the deck, driving us to our 



state-room?, where we gladly ti ied to forget the wild con- 
flict of the elements. 

The following morning dawned clear, but the waves 
ran high and the boat lurched from side to side so that 
only the bravest of our party ventured upon deck. 

The deck steward arranged the chairs upon the leeward 
side of the vessel. A long line of patient waiters sat 
there in quiet mood, when suddenly the good ship rolled 
from side to side 

The chairs slid down the declivity ; their occupants, 
moving at a different velocity, described divers curves 
ending on the deck. One of our party, who had enthu- 
siastically admired the jumping of the porpoises, felt that 
the time had come when she could successfully imitate 
the leap of the fishy occupants of the sea. Springing 
lightly from the swiftly moving chair, she cut a graceful, 
porpoise-like curve above her less fortunate neighbors,, 
and sank beneath her wrap?, as sank the fish beneath 
the waves. The feat was perfect. Another member of 
our party, indulging in a lunch of eggs on toast, moved 
swiftly down the inclined plane, with plate grasped 
firmly high in air, and, when she stopped against the 
rail, sitting upon the deck, she held her lunch intact, 
ready to finish what had been begun in a higher circle. 
A German nobleman slid beneath the life boat, and 
rolled himself in his fur wrap so completely that, as he 
crept out into view, it was difficult to determine whether 
it was man or furry beast advancing. To avoid further 



8 

mishaps of a like kind, the chairs were tied firmly 
against the supporting rail. 

After eleven days of sailing over the sea, with no 
sight of land, the signal from south-western England 
was joyfully welcomed. In the early morning, we hastily 
threw ou our wraps and rushed to the north side port- 
holes. A glorious spectacle was there presented to us. 
The Lizard Islands, stretching from east to west, in long 
parallel lines, rise abruptly from the sea level. 

They had the appearance of lizards basking in the 
sunshine. On the eastern extremity of the most out- 
lying island were placed two red lights as a signal to our 
steamer. How we appreciated Columbus as we gazed 
upon the much desired land ! While we were enjoying 
the beautiful view, a prosaic traveller, disturbed by our 
little cries of enthusiasm, came from her state-room. 
She looked from the port-hole, and stolidly remarked, '-Is 
that all.'* What a waste of enthusiasm!" How w^e 
pitied her ! What a travelling companion such person 
would be in a land full of artistic and natural beauties ! 

From this point we bore towards the south. We could 
hardly feel content, to leave south western England with 
this mere glimpse. To be so near St. Michael's chair, 
and not satisfy ourselves by sight that we might look 
from this holy seat, "towards Namancos' and Bayona's 
hold," was very difficult to bear with patience. 

During our second Sunday at sea, our revered Doctor 
of Divinity preached to us from trie life of Job. He said 



9 

that the lesson of Job comes to one with tremendous 
force, not on account of his patience but his perfect self 
control, perfect because self was subject to God. A 
beautiful thought, one that gives a hii^h ideal for human 
attainment. We heard a fellow passenger remark, "I 
fear that Job has been to me heretofore but a male 
Griseida. I am glad to have heard this sermon." 
Many hearts echoed this sentiment. Through the channel, 
we sailed on to the mouth of the Scheldt, passing fre- 
quently the Dutch fishing boats with their brightly 
colored sails. A whisper had been heard among the 
passengers, that the channel pilot had said that we 
should not arrive at Flushing early enough to "make the 
tide," and should be obliged to remain in the river until 
the following morning. When questioned, the Captain 
said that only the river pilot who would come on board 
at Flushing could decide. 

When the river pilot, whose coming was eagerly de- 
sired, arrived, we learned that we must stay on the boat^ 
within two and half hours of Antwerp, until high tide at 
half past six the next morning. We sailed a few miles 
up the river, anchored and tried with patience, akin to 
Job's, to be content. 

On our left, could be seen, a few rods distant, the 
green banks and brilliantly tiled roofs of Holland ; on 
our right, the rich farms of Brabant. 

Some of our party tried to gain permission to go on 
shore, but neither money nor flattery prevailed and we 



10 

were doomed to wait twenty hours, before we could again 
weigh anchor and approach Antwerp. The view of 
Flushing from the sea is very unique and charming. 

A grey fort guards the entrance and looks out some- 
what threateningly upon approaching vessels. The town 
lies very low. From the deck of the ship it seemed al- 
most below sea level. The black, protecting dykes give 
a somewhat formidable appearance to the city, while the 
«teep roofs, brightly colored, give a charming bit of 
color to the scene. A little removed from Flushing, 
very near the river, stands a little cottage with red roof, 
cream-colored sides and green blinds. With a bank of 
green before it, and the grey sky meeting the horizon 
at the back, it made a beautiful picture for eyes desirous 
of observing aught that would brighten the tedium of 
waiting. 

Far back from the river, by aid of a field glass, a 
beautiful white tower, rising above the well trimmed 
trees, was visible. 

The trees, planted in rows and carefully trimmed, 
lose their beautiful natural forms and give a formal as* 
pect to the landscape. Though restless and disappointed, 
each tried to help the others bear the weariness of the 
^'longest day of the voyage." Our American Consul at 
Duesseldorf, a fellow voyager, by his rare conversational 
powders, quick wit and hearty sympathy, afforded us 
much pleasure in the hours of waiting. 



11 

A gifted lady, with a remarkable talent for cutting 
silhouettes, gave us profiles not unlike our own, and, at 
dinner, our Puck announced a grand concert for the 
last evening on board the Noordland. 

The actors in the entertainment were rapturously ap- 
applauded. A Sonata from Beethoven, and a Nocturne 
from Hoffman were exquisitely rendered by a professor of 
music en route for Leipsic. The recitation of The Polish 
Boy by one of our own party gave much enjoyment. 

After the concert, a little lunch, a short stroll on deck, 
and we separated for the night rather sorry to be obliged 
to say good by to those who had become our friends in 
crossing the Atlantic gulf, yet glad to know that we 
should soon be once more on terra firma. 

The morning broke clear and sunny, and hastily tak- 
ing our last ship-breakfast, packing our bags, trunks and 
boxes, we were ready to land as soon as the plank was 
placed which joined us to "the world beyond the sea." 



12 



CHAPTER II. 

We would fain have lingered long in the quaint city of 
Antwerp, full of historic interest. How impossible it is 
to stay in such place without repeopling it with those of 
the past ! 

The scenes and sight around one fade away and the 
streets are again filled '\ith the gorgeous trappings of 
the Spanish officers, and the processions of priests chanting 
as they filed to the Cathedral for celebration of High 
Mass, in honor of the safe return of Chas. V to his be- 
loved Netherlands. In imagination the scene changes, 
and the horrors of war devastate the land. Spanish 
rule yields, but through much suffering have the Neth- 
erlanders gained their independence. 

Antwerp is a peaceful, happy city now, a center of Art 
in the Netherlands, and a place of interest to all lovers 
of the Dutch School of Painting. In front of the Ca- 
thedral, the treasure-house of Rubens' Descent from the 
Cross, is a beautiful little piazza, in the center of which 
stands a bronze statue of the fine old Master. 

There is much enjoyment in an hour's stay in this 
open square of the cathedral. 



13 

The quaint costumes of the peasant women, selling 
flowers or driving the dogs, which draw the milk-carts, 
make a very unique picture as one looks across the beau- 
tiful green, toward the irregular facades of the opposite 
buildings. A long stay in Antwerp would repay the 
student of history and art. 

Every one knows how well Rubens and Vandyke 
may be studied in this charming old town, but few have 
told us of the exquisite work in distemper by Memling 
found here. This work is so perfectly finished, that the 
most rigid scrutiny shows only perfection in detail. 

We left Antwerp with reluctance, after a ^hort visit, 
and hurried to Brussels, the capital of the present 
Belgian Kingdom. Did we expect, as we entered, to 
hear the rushing to and fro of armed men? Did we 
expect to see the citizens gathering in groups at corners 
of the streets, waiting, with bated breath, the news from 
the troops outside th«.' town? Not in reality, but as we 
glanced down from the square in front of the Palais de 
Justice, upon the irregularly built old town, with its 
red tiled roofs, we saw in imagination the hurried pre- 
parations for Waterloo. We heard the call, "They 
come, they come ! The foe, the foe !" We saw the looks 
of dismay and grief upon the faces of the fair, young 
maidens and courtly dames who had come to do honor to 
their stranger guests. "For Belgium's capital had 
gathered then her beauty and her chivalry." All these 
events of a brilliant past had '^vanished like a fleet of 



14 

cloud," yet fancy readily recalled them. With the 
beautiful modern city of Brussels about us, teeming with 
life, it was impossible to remain long in the land of 
reverie. The Palais de Justice is a perfect architectural 
gem, a happy combination of the Greek and Roman 
forms with Egyptian ornamentation. 

The building covers eight acres of ground, is made 
from a grey stone which admits a very fine finish, and is 
so harmonious in its proportion that every part suggests 
the necessity of adjoining parts. 

In the main vestibule, a double flight of steps leads to 
the great council chamber. At the foot of each flight 
are two statues ; on the one side, two Greek orators, on 
the other, two Roman orators, thus happily suggesting 
the united architecture. 

Almost every street, every public building, every 
church suggests the rule of the Austrian House. 

Historic statues, such as those of Egmont and Horn, 
adorn the diff'erent squares and parks of the city ; beautiful 
stained glass windows relate in color, more striking than 
words, the history of Charles V., while the lion of 
Eurgundy stands m relievo or complete statue in num- 
berless corners of this charming town. 

Brussels is a delightful city, with its interesting old 
guild-houses, its old Palais Royal, its fine churches 
and its Musee Moderne. This Mus^e is very rich in 
historic pictures, most of which declare the glory of the 
Austrian House. 



15 

Among the historic pictures, The Battle of Lepanto, 
and The Signing of the Death Warrant of Egmont and 
Horn, are very fine. Both of these pictures are very 
naturalistic, as, to a great extent, historic pictures must 
be, but they are wonderfully executed. 

The figure of John of Austria, in The Battle of 
Lepanto, is that of a commanding, triumphant hero as 
he stands, somewhat apart, upon the deck of the principal 
ship. It is difficult to believe that the real, living 
Spanish hero is not present. Perhaps there is more 
exquisite finish in The Signing of the Death Warrant of 
Egmont and Horn, than in its companion piece. There 
are very powerful handling of light and shade, and 
remarkable delicacy of touch in the painting of the 
fabrics, — the laces and the velvets. The gem of the col- 
lection, in wonderful mingling of strong light and deep 
shade, is Judas Wandering, by Thomas. 

The picture represents a night scene, with deep, 
shadowy background in which a blazing fire is so placed 
that Judas, emerging from the darkness, receives the 
strong red glare, full upon the face. 

In some almost magical manner, the artist makes that 
light penetrate the very soul of the Betrayer of our 
Lord, and the beholder sees beneath the exterior, into 
a heart full of falsity and treachery. This picture is 
one that, like Salvator Rosa's, once studied becomes 
forever a part of one's memory. A delightful ramble 
through the cathedral of Saint Gudule, stopping here 



16 

and there to note details, waiting long before the ex- 
quisitely carved pulpit in oak, where every line is so 
beautiful that one recognizes the divinity in the nature 
of the master whose work it is, is taken by every traveller 
who loves beauty in form and color. Very ancient and 
exquisitely colored glass windows adorn the transepts, 
those giving the history of the Austrian House in 
Spain are extremely rich in deep, brilliant colors. 
Thoroughly absorbed in the study of this magnificent 
structure, we were hardly awake to the sights and 
sounds around us as we drove through the city to the 
Wiertz Museum, but having entered, a strange world of 
Art in Color was presented to us. 

Here are all of the works, except a few portraits, "pot- 
boilers," of this eccentric Belgian artist. He habitually 
refused to sell his pictures, on the ground that if he once 
sold them he should never be free. He would no more 
willingly sell his works to popes or sovereigns than he 
would sell them to private individuals. "Keep your 
gold," he said, "it is the murderer of art." He resisted 
every temptation that he might retain in his possession 
all the productions of his genius. 

The Belgian government, recognizing at last the gen- 
ius of this artist, built for him, "A long desired studio, 
on condition that the painter should give his works for 
ever to Belgium, to remain undisturbed on the wails of 
the building where they are now, on free exhibition to 
the end of time. Therefore was built the large Museum 



17 

on the outskirts of Brussels. It is built in brick, inex- 
pensively, but from the picturesque designs of Wiertz 
himself, in imitation of one of the ruined temples of 
Paestum. Time has covered the structure with a rich 
mantle of ivy, and, situated in the midst of lovely grounds, 
it is in itself a sight worth seeing. Before he died, 
Wiertz had completely covered the walls within with 
the works of his brush, and peopled it with a multitude 
of queer contrivances for the production of fmtastic 
effects in viewing some of his smaller works." In the 
delirium which preceded the hour of death, he raved 
but of one thing, his art. "Oh ! what beautiful horizons ! 
Oh ! what lovely faces ! Quick, quick ! My brushes ! 
My palette ! What a picture I shall make ! Oh ! I will 
surpass Raphael." In fantastic, genre pictures, Wiertz 
took great delight, but not in these is found that genius 
which, after years of unremitting toil, gained him renown 
and honor. 

Our limited time caused us to leave, regretfully, the 
capital of Belgium. No fountain of Trevi was here 
for us, so that a drink of its waters should make us re- 
turn, but we mentally resolved that, if the Fates should 
be propitious, we would again see this town of historic 
fame. 

We shall ever hold in pleasant memory of Brussels a 
conversation between an intellectual, keen Philadelphian 
Judge and an Englishman, who failed to recognize any 
good outside of the British character. The faults of 



18 

Americans and the excellencies of Englishmen seemed to 
be the topics suggested by the English gentleman. 

Every statement, made by the representative of the 
British Lion, was seized, torn into pieces and scattered 
into thin air by our compatriot. He was truly like our 
American Eagle, and we could not prevent showing our 
pride in his admirable handling of his English opponent. 
May a prolonged residence abroad not detract from his 
estimate of true American character. 

Sunday found us in Paris — gay, brilliant, bewitching 
Paris — a city in which one may walk for hours and see 
only apparent wealth and pleasure. To every thoughtful 
person, come the questions, Is there not another side to 
Paris ? Are there no poor here ? Can these smiling, 
happy people have been the terrible Communists of the 
late revolutionary times ? Are these the descendants of 
the Terrorists of 1793 ? In no brief stay, can one satis- 
factorily answer these inquiries. Let him remain long 
enough to visit the Quarter of St. Antoine, the lower 
part of the Quarter of St. GermaiLC, and he understands 
that Paris has an interior somewhat unlike its smiling 
exterior. He comes to feel, if not to know, that he is 
living upon a bubbling, seething volcano that may, at 
any moment, send forth its pent up fury, and engulf 
thousands beneath its lava of wrath. 

After a service in the Madeleine, where the beauty of 
the temple and the exquisite handling of the music 
preached a more effective sermon than that uttered by 



19 

the priest, we strolled into the Place de la Concorde. 
It is difficult to recall the terrible scenes enacted upon 
this spot, with the beauty of fountains, statues and 
Champs Elysees before one. 

But there is no time for dreaming, no time to people 
in imagination these places of historic interest. 

A brief afternoon for rest, and, with the number of our 
party complete, we shall leave the city of the Seine to 
seek the fair land of Italy, 

A few of us, determined to see all that our limited 
time would permit, enjoyed the unique experience of an 
evening drive upon the top of a Paris coach. From that 
elevated perch, one gets, indeed, a bird's eye view of the 
sights in the street of the city of Clovis. No one wishing 
to ''see Paris" should lose this drive in the evening. 

In the early morning, with cheerful, expectant hearts, 
we merrily left the city of perfect entertainment, and 
passed out over the broad plains of Champagne. 



20 



CHAPTER III. 

We were a happy company. Each one intent upon 
seeing as few of the disagreeable things, attendant upon 
all travelling, as possible and of making his or her com- 
panions enjoy the trip. When tired of gazing over the 
rich fields of Burgundy, of catching a glimpse here and 
there of some picturesque old ruin, or some tower 
perched high in nir, we had recourse to story-telling, 
conumdr am .guessing, and various other amusements 
befitting a wise and gifted company. 

Our Doctor, possessing the rare gift of telling a story 
well, lent himself, with unparalleled generosity, to the 
romance loving section of our party. 

''Go to Thunder" for dinner, sounded somewhat 
strange to our American ears, and we begged that 
Tonnere should be left untranslated. 

A perfect dinner is served the railway traveller at 
Tonnere. Unlike the custom of many places in America, 
where you are told that twenty minutes will be "allowed 
for refreshments," and you find yourself hurried into the 
car at the end of five, with your "relreshments" either 
left lor some other unfortunate, or borne by yourself 



21 

into the coach to be eaten at leisure, every moment of 
time advertised in France to be given at any station is 
always granted. 

Travelling is hunger-producing work, and we were 
not opposed to a second dinner at Macon, where we left 
the Marseilles train, and entered the cars for Aix les 
Bains. 

A quaint and interesting place is this town of baths in 
the mountains. It is believed to have been built by the 
Roman Consul, C. Sextius, (120 B. C.) on account of 
the mineral springs in the neighborhood, and originally 
called Aquie SextiiTe, hence its modern name. Know- 
ing that the springs of Aix have the reputation of 
improving the skin, we expected to see complexions of 
brilliant fairness possessed by the beautiful daughters of 
this little town. 

That we might not doubt the wonderful efficacy of the 
water of Aix, we were told, in reply to the query, '-Why 
do we see so few women with beautiful complexions here ?" 
that by repeated use of the spring water, their faces 
became so dazzling in clearness and purity, that they 
were taken away as brides by American gentlemen. 
To prevent this loss of the most desirable part of the 
population, the maidens of Aix are no longer permitted 
to bathe in this wonder-producing water. "Yet," con- 
tinued my informer, "some of the vain creatures will 
bathe secretly in the forbidden water, and those we 



22 

are obliged to shut up, during the stay of these all-con- 
quering American heroes." 

Our party numbered but one unmarried gentleman, 
and we were very careful not to let him roam away by 
himself, lest he might discover one of the hidden beauties. 
When we arranged our sitting in the car section, we 
shrewdly and wisely placed ourselves near the windows^ 
so that he should be out of any danger of possible 
glimpses from the coach. 

When he learns our reason for the seeming selfishness' 
of taking possession of the best seats for sight seeing, — 
for we dared not divulge the secret even when we had 
left Aix far away — he will no doubt feel a thrill of 
gratitude for our thoughtful care of him. 

Perhaps not ! For the male sex, even of the gods from 
the time of Jupiter himself, have preferred not to be ''in 
leading strings." Not an extremely happy life, did the 
Greeks give to Juno, svith her unending worry about the 
uncontrollable Jove. If we found no famous beauties 
at Aix, we found a very finely executed statue of the 
good King Ren^, at one of the public fountains. This 
statue is one of the best works of David. This town, a 
favorite residence of the counts of Provence, is filled 
with reminiscences of the music-loving king. 

From Aix, the journey through the Jura Alps is one 
of absorbing interest. The railway winds about through 
the valleys, rich in vegetation. The towering mountains, 



23 

crowned with crosses, or oftentimes monasteries, show 
slopes terraced with exquisite skill and fertile in abun- 
dant vineyards. 

Perched aloft upon some jutting crag, the mountain- 
eer's cottage rests, a bit of vivid red, surmounting the 
gray rock that buries its feet in a cushion of cool and 
luxurious green. Through the ravines, mountain tor- 
ents, tumbling down the narrow gorges, rush with im- 
petuous force. 

Occasionally as we stayed for a moment at some 
mountain town, we could hear the rushing of the water 
in the rock-bound course beneath us. It came to us 
like the sounds of many angry water-sprites urged on 
against their will to join other companies near old 
Neptune's domain. Had we possessed the magic slippers 
of Stella, we should not have hesitated to go down into 
the clear depths, in search of hidden treasures. 

Roman ruins throughout this part of France, the old 
Transalpina, prepare one for the glory shown in Rome to 
her first Caesar. Towers, arches, roadways through these 
valleys attest the greatness of the Romans as builders. 
They built for eternity, and almost attained their object. 

After a short stay at Modane, six thousand feet above 
the level of the sea, we entered Mt. Cenis' tunnel. 
A ride of thirty minutes through this tunneled mountain, 
enabled us to appreciate the great mechanical skill 



24 

exercised in the structure of this French and Italian 
railway. We joyfully hailed again the light of day. 

Little occurrences in travel sometimes assume large 
proportions. As we entered the Custom House in Modane, 
we left a basket of luscious pears in our compartment, 
assured by the guard that it was quite sate. After lunch, 
when we reentered the section, pears and basket had 
disappeared, as also the assuring guard. It added little to 
our comfort to be told that we were not permitted to take 
fruit into Italy. We should have liked to have the same 
opportunity granted us that Spurgeon, the learned divine, 
is said to have improved here. 

When told by the Custom House officer that the 
basket of fruit which he held in his hand could not be 
taken into Italy, he replied, ''Ah I wait a moment 
before examining that trunk," walkel to the opposite 
end of the platform, which is in France, slowly ate 
the forbidden fruit in the sight of the official, returned 
smiling and said, "Now I am quite ready that you 
should examine my baggage." 

Our much desired basket of fruit had disappeared, yet 
the magnificent and novel scenery about us soon made 
us forget slight annoyances. We passed on to the old 
capital of the Piedmontese, in eager expectancy of 
much enjoyment. Turin is a beautiful city. It has 
many handsome streets, fine buildings, well- arranged 
parks and charming promenades. 



25 

To an American, when first told that he is occupying 
a room in a ancient palace, there comes a feeling that 
he has been taken into the past — that the present he has 
left somewhere beyond the Atlantic. 

We were lodged in very pleasant rooms in an old 
Renaissance palace. The dining-room is extremely rich 
in basso relievo, in white, with the alternating, 
depressed surfaces brilliantly colored. We were not so 
artistic, nor so lost in admiration of the '^splendors of 
the past," but that a well served dinner found ample 
appreciation. Neither did ^ 'lords and ladies fair" come 
back to us in dreams. Alas ! what dreams will come I 

" Uncalled, unwished, wild fancies creep within one's weary brain." 

In this palace of exquisite beauty of form and ancient 
ornamentation, most plebeian dreams, let loose through 
the ivory door of Morpheus' sea-castle, haunted our 
pillow. In the realms of sleep, we tried to illuminate 
brilliantly the large room assigned us with the one 
candle granted for "sight seeing." We found ourselves 
in New England, in an old farm house at the base of 
the granite ridge of New Hampshire, watching our 
grandmother laboriously making tallow-dips. 

The childish question so often asked in years gone by, 
"What do you make them for, grandma?" we heard 
distinctly answered by the energetic, bustling daughter 
of the Puritans, ''To send to Italy, child, to light the 
haunted palaces so that the ghosts will roam in them no 



26 

longer." So vivid was our dream, that, when we woke, 
it was difficult to believe that only one candle was at our 
service. 

The ghosts had roamed at will, and we had caught no 
glimpse of "sprite or gnome or lordly fay" within 
these historic walls 

A visit to the Art Gallery of Turin gave much satis- 
faction. While this collection (compared with those of 
Florence and Rome,) is meagre, there are some very 
beautiful pictures among the many ordinary ones. 
Here is an exquisite bit of work on wood, in distemper, 
by Memling — subject, Sorrows of Mary. In the centre 
of the picture — for this is a very composite work, con- 
sisting of seven distinct parts — Christ is represented in 
the Garden of Gethsemane ; at the right, above. The 
Arrest of our Lord by the Roman Soldiers ; in the 
right center, Christ in Prison ; at the right, below. The 
Condemnation of Christ; The Journey to the Cross, at the 
left, above; in the left centre. The Crucifixion; at the left, 
below, The Burial. Though faulty in drawing, it is 
exceedingly interesting for its unique composition and 
for its extreme delicacy in execution. The face of Christ, 
in the central representation, is full of exceeding love- 
liness : it is the face of divinity. The Artist has placed 
there that indefinable something which Leonardo ex- 
pressed in the face of our Master, and which Raphael 



27 

showed in his wonderful creations of the Virgin, and Fra 
Angelico, in his Angelic Host. 

Ribiera has in this Gallery a gem, his St. Jerome. 
It is in his best style, handled vigorously, and with 
marvellous power, portraying the strong character of his 
subject. 

Turin has a very fine collection of antique armors 
in the Palace Madama. There may be seen a bronze 
shield by Cellini, of so delicate and perfect work, that 
its hundreds of figures in relief, though miniature in size, 
are distinct in outline and expression. 

The life of this irascible and fascinating artist is like 
a brilliant romance, and as one looks at his beautiful 
creations, they seem like work from fairy land and not 
of mortal's production. This is a rich repository for 
the student of mediaeval history, especially of that of 
France and Savoy. As we left Turin, and took our course 
over the plains of Lombardy, the scenes of Dante's 
Divina Commedia came to us with great vividness: 

"In the land owned by Po and Adige, 
Valor and courtesy used to be found." 

This is, indeed, an enchanted land; poets, artists and 
scholars have filled it with so rich stores of romance and 
song that he who loves may read without stint wherever 
he wanders. 

One is very forcibly reminded through the northern 
part of Italy, of the French rule that has controlled this 



28 

section at many periods. Historic relics at various 
points, monuments such as that which marks the victory 
of the French over the Austrians at Magenta, landmarks 
of many sorts, attest the former power of the French 
nation. 

In approaching Milan, there comes to one's mind the 
well-known play upon the name of the city, in Napo- 
leon's reply to the curious countess who asked him his 
age, the day before his siege of the town, ''Madame^ 
aujourd'huije suis tresjeune, mais demain f aurai Milan 
imille ans).'' We were satisfied to reverse the statement 
and let Milan have us for many days of study, 

Milan with its wonderful cathedral, its jeweled tomb 
of Carlo Borromeo, its modern architectural gem, the 
Arcade of Victor Emmanuel, its Brera, rich in many 
masterpieces, is a happy centre for all travellers, but, 
to us, the Milan of Leonardo da Vinci was a delight long 
expected. With poorly concealed impatience, we waited 
for arrangement of other work, to visit the old Dominican 
Refectory containing the perfection of his art. The 
Last Supper. No hasty glance suffices ; one must forget 
the marks of time, and try to catch the spirit of the 
artist whose masterly creation adorns the wall before 
him. We can not understand why any one can fail to 
see the power of this creation. What cares one that faded 
colors greet the eye ! There will arise a feeling of 
regret that any work, save that of the great master, has 



29 

been permitted here, but the grandeur of the composition, 
and the perfect head of Christ make one forget all minor 
accessories. The lofty conception of him who "could 
expect to find no face on earth so perfect that it could 
serve as a model for that of our Lord and Master," is 
such that the beholder feels himself to be in the very 
presence of Him who died that we might live. 

Go, unbeliever, and stand in front of this represen- 
tation of Christ. Study well the unparalleled sweetness 
of the expression, the character delineated so clearly 
that the passion of the cross, the mighty self-sacrifice, 
are suggested in all their entirety. 

If one can turn from this picture and not feel that 
there is a reality in that faith which could inspire a 
Leonardo to produce this work, he is not possessed of 
a "soul fit to enjoy the perfection of artistic beauty.'* 
Da Vinci's Study, The Head of Christ, in the Brera is 
one of the most satisfactory studies, that we have seen. 
The tenderness, the pathos, the gentleness and the un- 
speakable love suggested in every line of this wonderful 
sketch, hold the observer as if a voice issued from the 
beautiful mouth, saying, "Behold the Lamb of God," 

In the room of modern art, in this gallery, is a fine 
painting, rich in coloring and excellent in drawing,, 
showing Catherine de Medici inducing Charles IX. to- 
sign the paper authorizing the Massacre of St. Bar- 
tholomew. With one's mind filled with this beautiful 



30 

creation of Leonardo, there comes the question, could 
any person in the name of that Christ execute such 
an order as the command for the Massacre of St. Bar- 
tholomew ? The Library contains the rare manuscripts 
of this many sided genius, written from right to left, as 
if his very thoughts were too precious to be read without 
effort, as his pictures are too suggestive of thought to be 
appreciated without study. 

In a dimly lighted room of the Ambrosian library of 
Milan, are the reliefs of Nemesis and Jupiter, Hebe and 
Hercules, Venus and Cupid, Mercury giving Hebe to 
Bacchus, all the work of Thorwaldsen. Denmark 
may well be proud of her famous son. He has, indeed, 
the power of the Greek and perfect purity. 

The recently placed Dante-window in this library is 
magnificent in coloring. A figure of Dante, in the red 
robes of zeal, occupies the centre of the window ; at his 
left, Beatrice in heavenly blue ; at his right, Mathilde in 
the green of paradise. In the arched, highest section, 
Beatrice, in beatiful white robes, again appears beatified, 
with groups of Angels on either side knci'ling in adora- 
tion. Beneath the angels on the left, Francesca di Rimini 
and Paolo, borne by the winds, seem to move into a 
circle of clouds; opposite these is a view of the frozen 
circle. 

It is a superb work and to the traveller who knows 
not of its existence, it is a delightful surprise. 



31 

The old Romanesque church of St. Ambrose, with 
atrium, its Etruscan carvings and doors of cypress, that 
were once closed against the En'peror Theodosius, 
preaches a silent sermon to all who hesitate in presence 
of higher rank to acknowledge duty and do it. 

With reluctant step, we turned from this city of the 
Sforza family, and were again on the railway, en route 
for Venice. Before arriving at Verona, we crossed the 
Mincio. 

" Smooth sliding Mincius crowned with vocal reeds." 

We fancied that we saw the spirit of Virgil hovering 
over the water, and slowly moving down its gentle 
course. "You fondly dream," a companion said. Per- 
haps it was a dream, and yet, "Our lives are naught but 
dreams, some beautiful, some broken with strange sights 
and sounds." 

We could not pass Verona, the home of Juliet, with- 
out a short visit to her tomb. Very ancient vehicles, 
drawn by very ancient horses, and having very ancient 
drivers, were waiting for us at the station. Notwith- 
standing the forlorn appearance of our conveyances, we 
were driven very rapidly to the tomb of Juliet, a frag- 
ment in reddish stone of what may have been the tomb 
of some Capulet ; from the tomb to the house, where the 
disappearance of the garden and the balcony is some 
what depressing to one who wishes most earnestly to 
believe that this is the real house occupied by Juliet. 



32 

A short distance down the street, a dark- eyed maiden 
leaned over the balustrade of a second-floor balcony, 
calling to a dapper -looking youth beneath to bring up 
the polenta. Here were Juliet and Romeo ! Possibly 
Shakespeare's heroine did not expect her Romeo to 
bring the polenta, and yet, who knows ? 

Here, in the square, is a very striking statue of Dante, 
and, within an enclosure, at the left, are the tombs of 
the Scala family, one of whom was podesta when Dante, 
an exile, found refuge with him. 

"With him Shalt thoa see 
That mortal, who was at his birth impressed 
So strongly from this star, that ot his deeds 
The nations shall take note." 

Thus sings the divine poet of his great patron. The 
ladder and eagle, coat of arms of the Scala family, 
typifying their unb(.unded ambition and means of at- 
taining the height desired, are quaintly represented in 
the net-work surrounding the tombs. 

Shakespeare and Dante ! England and Italy's rarest 
sons, in this strongly fortified town of the Middle Ages, 
are held in greatest reverence. 

With a hasty glance at the well preserved amphi- 
theatre, we passed on to the Mistress of the Adriatic. 



33 



CHAPTER IV. 

Like a queen, with her blue mantle floating about her, 
beautiful Venice sits in royal state that all the world 
may come to do her homage. 

The Palace of the Doges, the Bridge of Sighs, the 
Cathedral of St. Mark, the home of Byron, the house of 
Desdemona, are all points of intense interest to the 
traveller, but the every day sights, the little things, are 
very amusing to the stranger. 

How quiet life seems here, if we listen ; how active, if 
we watch. Find a cosy nook, in the corner of some garden 
overlooking the Grand Canal; no sound comes to one, save 
the dipping of the oars as the gondolas glide swiftly by, 
or the merry notes of the gondoliers as they "troll the 
catches" in their labor, or perhaps the ugly shriek of the 
steamer, — for Venice has not escaped the modern boat 
with its unmusical engine. Let us look, 

"For whether we look or whether we listen, 
We hear life murmur or see it glisten," 

and we see life full of charming activity. The gondoliers 
bending in perfect rhythm to the motion of the boat, 
the beautiful costumes of the occupants of these fairy- 



84 

like vehicles, the graceful gestures of signer saluting 
signora, or of demure siguorina bestowing stolen glances, 
with coquettish air, upon some young cavalier, complete 
an idyllic scene. We are fascinated, content to remain 
idle and watch the gliding panorama before us. Life is 
throbbing with music and poetry in Venice. A witching 
spell seems around every one. It is very easy to believe 
that fairies and gnomes are real, that Puck and Ariel 
are not simply thoughts of the "myriad minded genius." 
We are quite certain that nothing in Venice can be 
more enjoyable than a quiet view like this. 

If mortal can never say, "This is the worst," he 
surely can never say,' "This is the best," at least in 
Venice. There is something new ever awaiting one, 
more beautiful, more unique than aught seen before. 
Imagine one in a lovely, moonlight evening, well 
wrapped and most comfortably and charmingly seated in 
a gondola, with interesting and agreeable companions ; 
along side of the "shell" another similarly freighted, and 
yet a third, while a fourth is filled with musicians who 
make rich with melody the soft air about. 

With the very poetry of motion, the boats glide on, 
the music changes from soft and low, to loud and strong 
and with a ''brava, brava,'' we pass under and moor be- 
neath the Rialto. Brilliant lights, blue, red, green and 
golden, are sent flashing from our gondolas by the merry 
gondoliers, while above, as if by magic, flash out replies 



35 

from the balustrade of the historic bridge. Was it fancy, 
or did we hear the rough tones of Shylock demanding 
why these Christians "be so merry ?" In the dim light, 
did we mistake a brave, young Italian signor for Bassanio? 
Did we not hear the clear, young tones of Portia bidding 
Nerissa hasten, and "Inquire the Jew's house out, give 
him this deed, and let him sign it?" To every English 
speaking tourist the Rialto is peopled again by the 
creative genius of him "to whom the mighty mother did 
unveil her awful face." 

We linger long beneath the shadow of the Rialto, and 
then, through his kindnes to whom we owe this pleasant 
surprise, we are borne away to the Bridge of Sighs. 
There, resting beneath the gloomy, frowning wall of the 
terrible prison, our music-makers, at our request, sing 
their merriest tunes. We hope some glad sound may 
soothe the troubled, sin-laden souls of the doomed men 
within. We like not to stay here. The air is full of 
sighs and mournful sounds. Through the gleaming 
moonlight, we see dark stains upon the wall beneath the 
cell where many men of renown, innocent of any crime, 
were beheaded. We are told that these are stains of 
blood that time will never efface. As we gaze earnestly 
at the bridge connecting the beautiful palace, once 
magnificent with splendor of the Doges, and the black 
towering walls of the prison, a white mist settles slowly 
down enveloping the bridge m its ghost like folds. 



Shadowy shapes glide beneath the high walls, threat- 
ening gestures seem to indicate that these airj tenants 
wish no mortals near this place full of sad recollections. 
We pass out from the narrow canal, into the merry 
crowd peopling the main, watery avenue. As we give 
a parting glance to this most sorrow-laden spot in 
Venice, we see the misty cloud has completely hidden 
it from our view. Phantom hands point to us bs if urging 
us on, away from this place of woe. We h.'id forgotton 
that this was the evening before All Saints, that spirits 
then return to their scenes of suffering, and mortals 
must not witness the coming nor the going, A lively 
rendering of Funiculi Fnnicula drives the visions of 
ghosts from our minds and we return to our Hotel, 
satisfied that this Venetian life is intoxicating. 

Here lived Titian, and here the spirit of Titian per- 
vades all art. Venetian Art seems to have imprisoned 
the sunlight and sent it through prismatic lenses upon its 
canvas, until the colors of the rainbow glow there with 
even more than natural brilliancy. 

The Venetian pictures are full of passion, life. Titian, 
in his wonderful masterpieces, loses not the life nor the 
vigor, but he adds that suggestion of a future filled with 
spiritual richness, that is often wanting in the other 
painters of his school. In Venice, one stands in the 
vestibule of eastern coloring. Every department of art, 
as here represented, suggests the glowing wealth of the 



37 

orient. St. Mark's is a receptacle, filled with magnifi- 
cent spoils from Eastern temples. There is a peculiar 
beauty in the "fitness of unfitness" of the various col- 
umns, bits of architraves, mosaics and relievos brought 
from temples dedicated to many forms of worship, and 
here consecrated anew to the service of the God of the 
Christians. 

St. Mark s seems to the beholder, as a whole and in 
detail, a rich offering to Him who asks from us the 
richest of our gifts in sacrifice. From the study of per- 
fect columns of alabaster, and delicate relief upon beauti- 
ful entablatures, w^e passed to the High Altar, and there, 
in the gorgeous Pala d'oro, found the perfection of color, 
in the harmonious arrangement of a superb collection of 
precious stones. 

In Venice, there comes an almost irresistible desire to 
stroll through its winding streets and to explore the 
darkened archways leading oftentimes to narrow bridges 
or ending abruptly in steps at which a gondola is moored, 

Sunday afternoon, a sweet-faced New England lady, 
an interesting member of our party, placed herself under 
our guidance, and we went in search of the little church 
of Santa Maria Formosa, a strange, old structure, a 
union of the Byzantine and Romanesque Architecture. 

We wound about through dark alleys, leading nowhere 
and ending everywhere, until, after long search, by acci- 
dent we entered the desired piazza. In the centre, 



38 

about the well, a very picturesque group of dark-eyed 
beauties laughingly talked in merry tones, as each, in 
turn, lowered the bucket to fill her waiting pails. We 
crossed the piazza and soon stood within the church, in 
front of Palma Vecchio's Santa Barbara. Strangely 
impressive are these isolated master-pieces ! One often 
wishes that they could be placed in one grand gallery, 
the works of each artist classified by themselves. Yet 
the number would detract from the purest enjoyment. 
This beautiful Santa Barbara contains a suggestion of 
Raphael's St. Cecilia, and an indefinable likeness to his 
Galatea. 

We remained as long in the church, as the rapidly ad- 
vancing evening would permit, and then, with hasty 
steps, attempted our homeward way. 

We soon found it necessary to consult the map, to 
trace the desired streets. We leaned against the parapet 
of a little square near a bridge, intent upon making sure 
of the direction given by Baedeker, when we soon 
became conscious that we were the centre of an amused 
and curious crowd. Many guides pressed their offers 
of service upon us. How they had discovered that 
it ^as a case of the blind leading the blind, is still an 
unsolved problem. We had assumed, as we supposed, a 
very intelligent manner, and when we had refused the 
services of a guide, we had tried to impress upon him 
that we knew perfectly all the ins and outs of Venice, 



39 

yet here they offered their assistance upon all sides. 
On the preceding evening, one of our party, a gentle- 
man of rare good sense, who instinctively seemed ta 
know his locality, had found it necessary to employ the 
services of a Venetian to find his way to the hotel. 

He had supposed himself to be a long distance from 
the desired locality, but was amused, as well as annoyed, 
to find that he was almost at the Piazza San Marco,, 
directly back of the hotel. We hoped to avoid a like 
experience. To scatter the crowd about us, we moved 
on, regardless of particular directions, making use of 
generalities simply. 

We were not in an Alpine village, but "the shades of 
night were falling" fast, and, in sheer desperation, we 
rushed to the door of a little shop, in which stood a 
smiling, black-eyed woman, and said, "Rialto." "Si, 
si, signora," was the reply, and, running on before us, 
she guided us to this ancient structure. She made 
earnest efforts to converse with us, but our Italian being 
in its most primitive state, the conversation seemed very 
one-sided. It would be difficult to decide whether the 
expression upon her face was one of pity for our help- 
less condition, or disgust at our ignorance. 

From the Rialto, we succeeded in exploring the way 
to San Marco, thence to the hotel. 

On the following day we left Venice, some of us to 
visit the quaint town of Bologna, others to go directly 



40 

to Florence to await there thv* arrival of the party from 
Bologna. 

To the lovers of Architecture, the church of San 
Dominique was a delightful study of the Romanesque. 
Here too was the tomb of Giotto, and that of Elizabetta, 
the "divine painter of Bologna," The plain, tunneled 
vaulting was restful after the heavily ornaTjcnted arches 
and panels of ceilings already studied. In the church 
yard, are several very quaint tombs, elevated upon 
columns so that one may readily pass beneath them. 

Bologna, with its leaning towers, rivals of Pisa, its 
arcaded streets, and the possession of the exquisite gem, 
St. Cecilia, affords the traveller many days of interest. 
While St. Cecilia is the most beautiful of the group of 
figures in this master-piece^ the face and figure of St. 
Paul are just what we would have them as idealized from 
his writing. 

The St. Paul of no other painter is to us The St. Paul 
of the Scriptures that Raphael's is. Even his cartoon of 
Paul Preaching at Athens, fails to give to this grand 
apostle, what is found in the St. Paul of St. Cecilia. 
It is here the face of one who had been a persecutor of 
the early Christians, who, with fine scholarship, great 
ability, exalted position, had given all to the glory of 
God. The face is full of suggestions. It is powerful 
yet gentle, stern yet winning, proud yet humble. Ar- 



41 

tistically, the arrangement of the figures in this picture 
is perfect. 

With this brief glimpse of St. Cecilia, this running as 
we read, we hurry on, over the Appenines, to the Tuscan 
Valley, to the home of the Medici, Savonarola, Michel- 
angelo, Leonardo da Vinci and the lovable Fra Angelico. 
The day was long, and, as the symptoms of irritating 
weariness appeared. La Petite, the merriest little body 
in our company, whose busy brain was ever fertile in 
happy plans for amusement, and whose charming simpli- 
city won all hearts, proposed that each in our compart- 
ment should, in common parlance, "Tell a story." 

Humorous anecdotes, thrilling tales of modern bur- 
glars, and blood-curdling scenes from " True Ghost 
Stories," followed in quick succession. In the land of 
Boccaccio, we had caught his spirit, and soared into 
realms untouched by his genius. It had become our 
custom to enliven our jonrneys by conundrums, and, 
on this occasion, we found they fitted in well, between 
the various romances. 

We shall always remember that, as we entered 
beautiful Florence, most of us were busy in tracing the 
likeness between "a cat in a garret window and a 
church"; a thoroughly realistic resemblance, but some- 
what concealed from ordinary eyes. 

The propounder of that conundrum found it safe to 
leave the car very abruptly, after confessing her knowl- 



42 

•edge ot the existing likeness to be the same as that of 
those attempting to discover it. 

We were weary, yet in happy mood, as we repaired to 
our rooms at the hotel for the rest necessary to enjoy 
this centre of Tuscan Art. 



48 



CHAPTER V. 

When we say beautiful Florence, we hardly realize 
how much of truth the expression contains. 

The city is beautifully situated in a valley surrounded 
by heights of historic interest; charming villas are 
scattered here and there upon the neighboring slopes ; 
fine, broad streets, making delightful drive-ways, are 
found in the modern parts of Florence ; aud a park of 
exquisite loveliness, affords a pleasant retreat from the 
noisy parts of the busy town. 

Beneath our window, the Arno, in its mantle of 
clear, shining green, chattered as it passed over the 
little fall on its way to the sea. We wondered whether 
its waters were ever ruffled, and why so deep embank- 
ments were placed along the sides. Before we left this 
city, favored by Americans as a place of residence, tfee 
heavy rains in the mountains caused the water in the 
river to rise rapidly and rush on tumultuously through 
the valley. Rivers, like people, show their character 
only when looked at under different conditions of 
various times. 

On the day following our arrival in Florence, we 
drove to the church of San Miniato in Monte, from the 



44 

piazza of which an enchanting view of the valley of the 
Arno is obtained. This wide piazza, opened just below 
the site of the church, is decorated with copies of several 
of the statues of Michelangelo, and is named the Piazza 
of Michelangelo in honor of this great master. 

From the balustrade surrounding this Piazza, "The 
Arno meets the eye, reflecting in its tranquil bosom a 
succession of terraces and bridges, edged by imposing 
streets and palaces, above Avhich are seen the stately 
cathedral, the church of Santa Croce, and the picturesque 
towers of the Piazza Vecchio." We descended the hill 
of Oltr' Arno, passed the Casa Guidi, where for many 
years lived the poetess whose works have indeed "become 
a golden link between Italy and England," re-crossed 
the Arno by way ot the Ponte Vecchio, which is to 
Florence what the Rialto is to Venice, and entered the 
square of Santa Croce. 

In the center of this piazza was placed in 1863 a 
statue of Dante. 

' 'Tender Dante loved his Florence well 
While Florence now to love him is content." 

The church of Santa Croce has been named and, in a 
manner, appropriately, the Westminster of Italy. Ma- 
dame de Stael writes, "This church contains the most 
brilliant assembly of the Dead that may be perhaps 
in Europe." 

"In Santa Croce's holy precincts lie 
Ashes which make it holier." 



45 

Here are the tombs of Angelo, Machiavelli, Alfieri^ 
Prince Corsini find. Galileo. Here too is a monument to 
Dante, whose ashes lie at Ravenna where, ^ 'Florence^ 
greatest son found refuge in his exile." 

Among the many beautiful works in stone in this 
church, none excels, in gracefulness of pose, the fine 
relief in gray marble of The Annunciation, by Donatello. 
He who studies well this exquisite representation 
readily understands that Donatello may have been a 
worthy competitor of Ghiberti in the making of those 
gates, "fit for Paradise." 

"The Perfection of Gracefulness," remarked a friend 
who had studied this gem of the great master in 
years gone by, and we echoed the thought when we 
stood before it. 

Although the faces of the Virgin and Angel are very 
beautiful, they are hardly noticed except in detailed 
study. The relative position of the two, the receiver 
and the hearer of this good news to all mankind, is so 
full of suggestive thought that details are lost sight ot 
until after prolonged study. 

From the church of Santa Croce, we went to the 
Duomo. In and about the Cathedral, are found the 
most beautiful architectural products in Florence. The 
Duomo, with its fine choir and magnificent High Altar 
beneath the dome, its windows of glass glowing in colors 
rich and warm ; the Baptistery with Ghiberti's bronze 



46 

4oors, and the historic porphyry pillars showing the 
former ascendancy of Pisa over Florence ; the graceful, 
fdiry-like Campanile ; all stand in the square of the 
Cathedral. 

There is so much beauty centered in this spot, that it 
is difficult to realize that it has been produced by the 
genius of man. It seems as if we stand here on holy 
:ground, made sacred by the mighty power of 
anen like Savonarola, who preached here his wonderful 
sermons of the fifteenth century. * 'The people rose in 
the middle of the night to get place for the sermon, and 
came to the door of the Cathedral, waiting outside till it 
■should be opened. Though many thousand people were 
thus collected, no sound was to be heard until the arrival 
•of the children, who sang hymns with so much sweetness 
that heaven seemed to have opened. Thus they waited 
until the Padre entered the pulpit and the attention of so 
great mass of people, all with eyes and ears intent upon 
the preacher, was wonderful ; they listened so, that 
when the sermon reached its end it seemed to them that 
it had scarcely begun." As we stand here four hundred 
years later, and listen for the echoes of that soul-stirring 
voice, the shrill clangor of metal pails on the pavement 
•of the square, the shouts and laughter of the ever-hurry- 
ing crowd, cause us to feel that, in the midst of strife 
and turmoil, this sacred edifice is like a poem, a 
prayer^ with myriads of brilliant thoughts enshrined 
within. 



4T 

We entered the beautiful Baptistery of San Giovanni, 
beloved by Dante. We looked in vain for the fonts, of 
which he says, 

"To hold the pure baptismal streams, 
One of which I brake, some few years past, 
To save a whelming infant."' 

Only one small font is now in this building, and this 
stands somewhat removed to the left of the principal 
entrance. An inscription upon the grey marble of the 
central pavement indicates that, formerly, the great 
font, with its accessories, stood beneath the lantern of 
the dome. We passed from this beautiful structure, 
crossed to the opposite pavement and stood where the 
great poet often sat and gazed at the cathedral. 

"O, passionate, 
Poor Dante, who, a banished Florentine, 
Didst sit austere at banquets of the great." 

We turned toward the eastern part of the Piazza 
where stands a palace once occupied by Lorenzo de 
Medici. Here oftentimes met the brilliant court of 
him who held the liberty of Florence in golden chains. 
Here Politiano recited his graceful, flowing rhetoric; 
here Michelangelo began to show evidences of his 
masterly genius ; here scholars from all lands offered 
their tributes to the masters of the Renaissance. 

Thoughtfully we slowly returned to the hotel, con- 
vinced that this city is a treasury of history, art, litera- 
ture and science. 



48 

As we joyfully hastened toward the dining-room, in 
response to the welcome sound of the call to dinner 
(a good traveller is always a good eater), some one said, 
"Do you know that the Opera of Lucretia Borgia is 
here to-night?" *'Is the company first class?" "Are 
you going ?" ''Is there a ballet, too?" "No, I don't 
care for it," "Yes, yes, to hear this opera in Italy is an 
opportunity not to be lost," were some of the fragmentary 
remarks overheard in the reception of the announcement 
of this oper«.. After much discussion of the question, 
whether an opera, even in Italy, rested one more than 
it wearied, seven, who had decided in the affirmative, 
betook themselves to the House of Song, to hear again 
the tragedy of Pope Alexander's daughter. 

It was but an indifferent performance, and long will 
some of the seven remember how sadly their ideal pictures 
of Lucretia were destroyed by a prima donna, with a 
thin, high voice and an avoirdupois of two-hundred and 
fifty pounds. One of the seven unfortunates, a young 
lady who had become a msmber of our party for a brief 
time, "brilliant in word and quick to act, mistress of 
repartee," remarked that perhaps Lucretia, as Princess 
d'Este, may have taken life so easily that this repre- 
sentation upon the Florentine stage might not be un- 
true to Nature, but, she added, "In spite of the dictum, 
'Art must be true to Nature,' a rather more diminutive 
and graceful figure for our heroine would be more ar- 
tistic." 



49 

The disappointment in our musical expectations for 
the evening was followed in the morning by a perfect 
realization of our dreams of Fra Angelico. 

There is no other artist, in our opinion, r^ho has 
caught for his Madonna the heavenly radiance in her 
face that becomes the fascinating attraction in a Madonna 
by the hand of this wonderful master. As one looks 
upon his masterpiece in easel work, The Madonna of the 
Star, it seems as if the Holy Mother had passed into the 
Holy of Holies, and there had seen that which took 
from her all earthly passion and left a wondrous divinity 
in her face. Unlike Prometheus, Fra Angelico stole 
not the spark from Heaven ; unlike Franklin, he wooed it 
not, but to him it came as a gift from the Almighty. 

The grandest work of this painter was the rich, golden 
completion of a life, that rendered unto God all that be- 
longed to God. Six exquisite works of Fra Angelico adorn 
the cloister ; The Chapter House has his Grand Crucifix- 
ion ; at the head of the stairs is a beautiful Annunciation 
by him ; opposite this is his Saint Dominic Embracing 
the Cross. In the Dormitory, all of the cells, on the 
left, have frescoes by Fra Angelico. In one of the cells 
is found the Madonna of the Star, brought here from 
Santa Maria Novella. While one may regret that the 
beautiful gardens and cloisters of San Marco are now 
given to the use of the Italian soldiers, one rejoices that 



50 

the Italian Government has preserved here And protects 
the works of this great master. 

The cell of St. Anthony is interesting with a portrait 
of the Saint by Fra Bartolommeo. Here, too, is the 
cell of Savonarola, with his portrait and many relics 
belonging to the brave spirit who dared resist Lorenzo, 
the Magnificent. Within the church, are the tombs of 
Politiano and Pico Mirandola, scholars of the brilliant 
Renaissance, deserving burial within the walls of San 
Marco. 

A somewhat hurried visit to the academy of Beaux 
Arts for a view of Michelangelo's David, gave time for a 
brief study of Giotto's Life of St. Francis ; though 
brief yet it was thoroughly enjoyed, because one of our 
party, a charming lady from the state of Jersey Blues, 
who had the rare faculty of finding little details of interest 
and a rich sympathy to give to all deserving, examined 
with us, in minute particulars, this series of pictures 
in distemper by Giotto. An appreciative companion 
doubles one's enjoyment in studying any beautiful 
creation. "Man is a sociable animal," sings our modern 
sage, and woman is doubly so ; hence, to make her en- 
joyment complete, she must have companions in her 
happiness. 

In the afternoon, two of us strolled through the old 
Market Place, into the narrow streets where are now 
shops filled with everything desirable and undesirable; 



51 

restaurants next to blacksmith's forges; donkeys, hens 
and children sharing equally and happily small rooms 
lighted only from the doorway. 

"Whatever brawls disturbed the streets," there 
seemed to be none at home, all — donkeys, hens and 
babies — were content, and therefore happy. 

In this locality, we found the work-shop of Cellini^ 
where, perchance, came to him those ingenious devices 
that suggested the wings of escape from the Roman 
prison or the more artistic designs upon the shields and 
helmets that, like fairy work, are due to his unique skilL 
Here, on a street corner, glared down upon us The- 
Devil by John of Bologna, marking the site of a pulpit 
from which the Evil One was exorcised. This is the 
spot where the real, peasant life of Florence ig found,, 
where one can readily see the elements that may be 
roused to a fury of excitement by some trivial cause. 

People here are so closely packed, that excited feelings 
like disease, is readily communicated to the mass. 

We strolled across the Ponte Vecchio, west to the- 
church of Santa Maria del Carmine, where are the- 
finest works of Masaccio. 

The church was free from visitors, and readily finding^ 
our way to the chapel decorated by Masaccio, we became 
so absorbed in study of The Expulsion that we did not 
notice the approach of a priest until chairs were politely 
offered. Unfortunately, the priest knew only Italian,. 



52 

and we knew no Italian. These frescoes show admira- 
bly the advance in art during the first century of The 
Tuscan revival. As we left the chapel, our friendly 
priest beckoned us to follow him through a narrow 
doorway at the back of the chancel. We hesitated as 
we approached and saw a dark, narrow passage leading 
to depths below. 

Memories of living entombments, of wierd romances 
read in years gone by, of horrible monsters in priestly 
vestments, came thronging into our minds, but curiosity, 
that best inheritance of womankind, mastered our fears, 
and we bravely followed our leader of the unknown 
tongue. Descending a few steps, our guide opened a 
small door, disclosing a long, narrow room, lighted from 
a narrow window placed high in the opposite wall. 
He quickly stepped to the wall, on our right hand, 
touched what seemed to be a fixed panel which yielded 
easily to slight pressure. This he noiselessly slipped 
aside. A small niche, containing several shelves on 
which were two quaint iron-pots and a few iron instru- 
ments somewhat like spoons, was seen. 

In vain he gesticulated with hands, arms, head and 
shoulders, we could not understand what might be the 
use of the greenish liquid contained in the iron vehicle. 

At last he led us to a small room opening upon 
the corridor of the old cloister, and showed us where 



53 

frescoes were being uncovered after many years of 
burial beneath a coat of white-Tvash. 

A ray of understanding, at last, entered our minds and 
we saw that he wished to show us by what means these 
ancient frescoes are freed from their white coating. It 
is a somewhat laborious task and requires great care in 
its execution. Many of the most beautiful wall-paint- 
ings suffered during the decline of art, from this white- 
wash mania, and would have been lost to the present 
age if this method of restoration had not been invented. 

With many thanks from our intelligent guide, who 
had been made extremely happy in his success in con- 
quering our stupidity, we stepped from the quiet church 
to the street filled with people hurrying in one direction. 
We remembered then the expected arrival of King Hum- 
bert and Queen Marguerite. We joined the ever-moving 
crowd, and aimlessly went with the others, until we 
found a pleasant halting place on the approach to the 
Ponte Santa Trinita. Here we waited the arrival of 
royalty, and watched the people about us. 

Human nature is the same throughout the world, and 
a crowd of people in Florence is not, save in minor de- 
tails, unlike a crowd in any city of America. 

We were surprised that so great degree of quiet pre- 
vailed, for we had had ample proof that the Italians can 
make twice the amount of sound that an equal member 
of Americans can produce. In short, we are sure that 



54 

no other people can yell with the vigor and continuance 
of the Italians. 

Without any sound of music, the royal carriages, 
with their outriders and gorgeously apparelled drivers, 
and mounted attendants, appeared. One burst of ap- 
plause broke, like a sudden peal of thunder, from that 
vast concourse of human beings, startling in its sudden- 
ness and intensity. 

''Viva, Viva,'' passed from mouth to mouth, as the 
beautiful queen bowed gracefully from side to side, and 
King Humbert, with uncovered head, looking a little 
bored, acknowledged the offered homage. "Uneasy lies 
the head that wears a crown," must be the comfort to 
those who are not born to royal station. A visit to the 
Palazzo Vecchio, aside from its historic interest, affords 
ample study in architecture. Guelf and Ghibelline have 
both left their distinctive architectural works upon this 
Romanesque building. 

A ramble through the Bargello, where is found the 
beautiful portrait of Dante by his friend, Giotto, gives 
one perfect enjoyment. The magnificent Bust of Brutus, 
by Angelo and the realistic yet ideal Singing Boys by 
Luca della Robbia are the finest examples of plastic art 
in the Bargello. 

Among all the art treasures of Florence, we did not 
forget the spot dear to every student of literature, the 
Protestant Cemeterv. Here lie Theodore Parker, 



55 

whose life, like the little flower that now covers his 
grave, yielded a fragrance perfect in its delicate 
sweetness ; Walter Savage Landor, one ol the greatest 
masters of the English Language ; Arthur Hugh 
Clough, whose early death shortened a career brilliant 
in its promise ; and Elizabeth Barrett Browning, equally 
loved by her countrymen and those of her adopted land, 
fair Italy. 

The Ufizzi and the Pitti, with their rambling, covered 
gallery connecting th^m, are so replete with the richest 
gems, both in sculpture and painting, that no brief de- 
scription can give any satisfaction. They are the glory 
and pride of Florence. In the Tribune of the Ufizzi, a 
wealth of beauty in form and coloring meets the eye 
from very point. 

Before the perfect embodiment of grace, as shown in 
the Venus de Medici, of "grief too deep for tears," as 
portrayed in the Niobe, of divine sweetness as indicated 
in the little Christ of the Madonna del Cardellino, of 
"majesty blended with inexpressible beauty," as repre- 
sented in the Vision of Ezekiel, of simplicity and 
grandeur as presented in The Salutation, no one can 
doubt the divine inspiration of the artist creators. 

"They are but the works of man," some one of our 
party exclaimed, yet how great must have been the mind 
of the mighty genius that produced each masterpiece, 



56 

and how much more glorious the power of Him who 
created for man, the greatest of all things in man, mind. 

From the enjoyable yet somewhat exhausting study 
of the artistic beauties of the art museums, we drove 
through the Cascine, the charming, characteristic park 
of Florence, along the northern bank of the Arno. 
Here is the beautiful ilex tree in perfection. This is 
truly a park that gives highest enjoyment; in that Nature 
is permitted to show her beauties without man's inter- 
ference. Art is employed only so far as she may assist 
Nature. No trees, cut into ugly, unnatural forms, meet 
the eye; no regular, geometric figures limit the extent of 
the part given to the 'phaeywgams. The work of Art can 
not be separated from the work of Nature in this ideally 
beautiful retreat. After a visit to Cimabue's Madonna 
in Santa Maria Novella, a stroll through the rooms filled 
with works of modern Artists was refreshing. It was 
like coming from the remote past to the vigorous, living 
present. As one stands in front of the Modern Art 
Museum and looks off toward Fiesole, near the close of a 
clear, sunny day, the purple and golden lights, wrapping 
the mountains in soft folds, give an unreal aspect to the 
scene. 

How difficult it is to leave this beautiful Florence, to 
take one's self away from the sight of the Arno, Giotto's 
Tower, ruined hall and monastery crowning almost 
every mount on either side of the river ! But Rome, the 



57 

Mistress of the World, is before us. Joyfully, yet re- 
gretfully, we left the Val d' Arno in the early morning, 
en route for the city of the Caesars. 



58 



CHAPTER VI. 

To the question often proposed, "Did you not find 
the railway travel tedious?" the reply, ''Not in the 
least, on the contrary very enjoyable," may be truthfully 
given. There is so much of interest in any new country 
to a good observer, that a journey is robbed of its weari- 
ness, and in so beautiful country as that about the 
Appenines there is no room for aught but pleasure. To 
watch the picturesque groups at the different stations is 
great amusement. A ready knowledge of the Italian 
language, though very useful, would detract much 
from the real pleasure of travel in Italy. Half of the 
unique satisfaction in watching the earnest manner in 
which the Italians talk, would be lost, if the observer 
understood what was said. They converse with so much 
vehemence, accompanied with rapid and violent gesticula- 
tion, that it is easy to imagine them upon the edge of 
some precipice of tragic action, when only ordinary 
affairs of every day life are receiving their attention. 
The children in this land of Beauty are very graceful, 
every motion of the lithe figures is as if in rhythm with 
a harmonious whole. Gracefulness is an inheritance of 



59 

the modern Italian from the ages replete with beauty of 
form and position. Their costumes are very picturesque, 
and worn with so much skill that what seems in itself 
very uncomfortable is strikingly imposing upon the 
Italian. At last we approached the long desired city. 

'*Who first spies St. Peter's Dome shall have a treat 
of sweet chocolate," said the matron, who was ever alert 
in discovering new points of interest, and ever ready to 
administer some welcome "treat" from a very tempting 
hand-satchel. Do you wonder, gentle reader, that one 
could enjoy chocolate in sight of St. Peter's ! We were, 
in some respects, a very prosaic company, but capable 
of reaching the highest degree of enthusiasm. Was it 
the offered bribe alone that caused our merry travellers 
to gaze earnestly from the compartment windows toward 
the dimly outlined city ? 

As seven pairs of eyes scanned eagerly the landscape 
upon the left side (we had been told that from that side 
St. Peter's would be first seen), a quiet voice said, 
^'Here is St. Peter's Dome at the right." Seven disap- 
pointed ladies I Yet he, who had won, was always so 
willing to yield his own pleasure to others, that we were 
quite content that he should enjoy the honor of first 
seeing the unequalled dome. 

It was not until after a night's rest, and, refreshed, we 
started for St. Peter's, that we fully comprehended that 



60 

this was the city of Romulus — Heathen and Christian 
Rome. 

One begins and one ends a visit in Rome with St. 
Peter's. Be a person Romanist or Protestant, this 
church must have for him a great attraction. Its per- 
fect harmony of proportion, its grandeur, its richness, 
all give it a dignity worthy the noblest basilica in the 
world. 

Very fascinating is the vesper service in the choir 
chapel. This chapel is gorgeously decorated in stucco and 
gilding, and has two fine organs, and the choir contains 
many voices belonging to the renowned papal choir. 
With the music, the incense and the soft intonations 
of the officiating priests, a luxurious sense of content- 
ment steals over one. "Is this Rome?" "Is this St. 
Peter's, for the completion of which the steps were 
taken which led to the Reformation ?" "It is so beautiful^ 
so beautiful," runs the mental refrain, that we almost 
forget aught save that around us. When at a later date, 
six of us climbed into the ball surmounting the lantern, 
looking down, from various points in our ascent, upon 
the church pavement and the surrounding country, we 
realized how perfect and mighty was the structure be- 
neath us. 

In Rome, no one ever loses sight of St. Peter's, save, 
temporarily, by the obstruction of some other building ; 
from almost every part of the city, Michelangelo's 



61 

"Pantheon in the Air" is plainly visible. How fitting 
that in this city of buried greatness, should be the works 
of the Master, who, in spirit, was an ancient Roman ; in 
art, a warrior against all that did not ennoble ! 

Stand before the fa§ade of the Capitol, or go into the 
Piazza delf Popolo, where may be seen the design of the 
gate, or study the exquisite statue, Domiae Quo Vadis, 
or rest in front of The Mighty Law Giver of the Chosen 
People, or enter the Sistine Chapel and look with 
reverence upon that mighty creation adorning the ceiling 
and altar wall, or pass to the Pauline Chapel where the 
strong frescoes of St. Peter and St. Paul mark a mighty 
genius, or turn to the basilica of St. Peter and look upon 
the tender and divine sympathy of La Pieta, and in- 
voluntaiily your steps are led beneath the Dome which 
not only crowns this grand Cathedral but is a fitting 
memorial to Michelangelo. 

It is suitable that Florence should possess the tombs 
of Lorenzo and Ginliano de Medici, yet it is Rome that 
should claim them as masterpieces of him whom she so 
fully honors. 

It gives pleasure to find Raphael's pictures anywhere, 
it seems as if they should be universal, but Angelo's 
works, wherever seen, call forth the remark, '-They 
ought to be in Rome." 

It will be contrary to the general opinion, to say that 
we like the Vatican Palace. It is unlike any other 



62 

building, it is full of irregularities which spoil its ar- 
chitecture, but suggest character. It has charming in- 
consistencies as a whole, but they seem to portray the 
thoughts of the many who have enlarged or modified the 
building to suit their purpose. A building after any set 
form of architecture, tells nothing of its founder save his 
wealth, except in the furnishing and ornamentation. 

The Vatican shows the character of each of its builders 
better than any biographer can do. Here i^ Raphael's 
exquisite grace in the Stanze and Loggia, or in the 
Gallery of masterpieces, where stand the Transfiguration 
and Madonna di Foligno. Rome still admires and 
reverences its Angelo, but loves its Raphael. Lovable 
must have been the artist, who made such exquisite 
figures of childhood as are found in almost all of 
Raphael's creations. A short stay in Rome implies that 
the traveller must work, if he desire to carry away any defi- 
nite notion of what he has come to study. The members of 
our party were very industrious and enthusiastic. Rome 
afforded study for all. Lovers of Architecture found 
ample material for their investigation, while those 
interested in painting, sculpture, libraries or the modern 
collections of "lovely wares" were equally happy in 
what they desired. There are now two Romes, the Old 
and the New. The one, with narrow streets, filled with 
ancient buildings and ruins of temples and palaces ; the 
other, with broad avenues, modern, ugly houses and an 
air of the nineteenth century ''push." 



63 

While the visitor in Rome prefers his lodgings in the 
modern part of the city, his interest is centered in the 
ancient. 

"O'er steps of broken thrones and temples," will his 
footsteps more frequently and lingeringly pass than over 
the freshly laid pavements of the newly made streets. 

On the second morning after our arrival, we went to 
the Palatine, and spent nearly all of the day in exploring 
the ruins of the palace of the Csesars. A bit of the 
original wall of Romulus and of his supposed house built 
of stone without cement, shows the strength of the 
early Roman structures. 

The conglomerate and reticulated stone-work of the 
republic, the brick covered with cement and marble, 
the work of the empire, are here in close relation. One 
age built upon another, so that it is beneath the present 
surface of the Palatine Hill that we descend to the rooms 
of the early palaces. 

The well preserved rooms of the palace of Livia give 
an excellent plan of the early Roman building. As we 
gathered within the dining room of this beautiful ruin, 
still adorned with graceful frescoes and finely executed 
mosaics, we tried to fancy it as it may have been during 
a magnificent banquet of the haughty empress. Luxurious, 
proud and elegant in bearing were the richly robed 
guests, but, vv'e flattered ourselves, no more distinguished 
in appearance than the sixteen Americans who, with 



64 

characteristic freedom, discussed the superiority of the 
modern dining-room. 

Youth and beauty were not wanting in our company 
of merry travellers, for seven of us were young and 
each, in her own way, beautiful. One, Minerva- like in 
figure, bore herself in queenly manner, and to her had 
been given the power to sketch the forms and imitate 
the tints of Nature with great skill. A second, bright 
and winning, with much histrionic ability, in appearance 
not unlike a Roman maiden, Apollo had endowed with 
the gift of song. 

"What passion can not music raise or quell ?'' 

A third, much loved and loving, possessed that most de- 
sired trait in woman, sympathy. With a sweet, intelli- 
gent face, and girlish impulsiveness, many a sympathetic 
word was offered by her which gave happiness to those 
about her. "A well trained daughter of a charming 
mother." 

A fourth, like all precious things, small in size, had a 
northern type of face combined with the quick, facial 
expression of the south. She was a delightful com- 
panion, responsive to all that was best in every one's 
character. A fifth was charming from her frankness 
that brooked no deceit and "would that all life should be 
as clear as is the crystal drop of the sparkling fountain." 

A sixth, with Grecian face, stately figure and color 
that comes and goes, leaving 



65 

"The tint that Neptune loves within the linins: of his shell," 

must have excelled any maidens of royal grace who, in 
the early days of the Empire, made radiant this antique 
banquet-hall. A seventh, modest, gentle, with quiet 
content and ready tact, was loved by all. A rare, sweet 
character, dearest to those who know her best. 

Our six matrons were distinguished for much intelli- 
gence, tact, ready wit, energy, unflagging interest and 
general "charmingness." 

Our three gentlemen had that quality rare in man, 
and delightful when possessed by him, of doing exactly 
what the ladies wished. In appearance they were 
n Coriolanus, an Antonio and a Menenius. No three 
more courtly gentlemen ever graced the receptions of 
the pleasure-loving Livia. 

Pleasing fancies, *'airy nothings," could not restore 
the lost grandeur of Livia's household. We passed 
through the covered way connecting her house to that 
of Augustus, we entered the excavated halls of Caligula's 
palace, we saw the glory of the Temple of Castor and 
Pollux, we passed into the imperial basilica fr'^m 
which could be readily seen the extent of Nero's gold- 
covered palace, w^e examined the remains of the royal 
Tablinum, turning to the left, we crossed the race-course 
and ascended to the level of the extensive palace of 
Septimius Severus. From the third story of this palace, 
a very fine view of the hills of Rome and of the 



66 

Campagna is obtained. St Paul's is distinctly visible on 
the horizon, and the Claudian Aqueduct creeping over 
the plains, looks like a huge serpent, with fold upon fold, 
seeking to enter the city. Descending from this plat- 
form, we arrived at the ruins of the Pedagogium or 
school for the education of the imperial slaves. 

As 've slowly returned to the point of entrance, and 
noticed, on our left, the Villa Mills, on our right, the 
Convent of St. Bonaventura, both covering unexcavated 
parts of the Palatine, and thought how vast are the 
edifices uncovered, we were ready to accept the state- 
ment as true, that the Romans were the finest builders 
that the world has ever known. As we stood for a 
moment before leaving the Palatine, regarding the wall 
of Romulus, and saw the cave where the wolf is said to 
have nourished the twins, it was difficult to believe that 
more than two thousand years had passed into eternity of 
time since the beginning of this city. 

The work of this day was pleasantly ended by a 
charming drive through the Pincio, the park of Rome^ 
to the Borghese Axilla in which is the far famed statue of 
Pauline Bonaparte, as Venus Victrix, by Canova ; 
across the Piazza Del Popolo, through the Corso, 
and the Via Ripetta to the church of Santa Maria della 
Pace where are Raphael's Sibyls, thence to the Pantheon. 
Here, directly across the pavement from Raphael's 
tomb, is building the tomb of Victor Emmanuel. That 



67 

this structure was ever but the entrance hall to the 
baths of Agrippa does not seem probable, but rather 
that it was part of an extensive building dedicated to 
universal worship. 

Thence we drove to the Propaganda, passed beyond to 
the Quirinal, where is now the Imperial Palace, formerly 
the Palace of the Pope, in which, on account, of its 
healthful situation, the Pope resided during the summer. 
In the centre of the piazza, adjacent to the fountain, are 
the famous bronze statues of Castor and Pollux, long 
supposed to be the work of Phidias and Praxiteles. 

Time never rests in his changes. The temporal power 
of the pope has given place, step by step, to the secular 
government, until now only the Vatican, the Lateran 
and the Papal Villa at Castel Gandolfo are under his 
direct control. 

It was well that this day's work was succeeded by a 
day of rest, and yet Sunday in Rome affords to the 
mind little time for relaxation. 

It was restful, however, to attend the beautiful service 
of the American Church, in a perfect Gothic edifice 
within the walls of Rome. 

Vesper service at Trinita di Monte gave to us, who 
bravely walked through a heavy shower to attend it, a 
rare treat in n usic rendered by the nuns. 

The music was composed for their use by Mendelssohn, 
and is executed with wonderful skill. A screen separates 



68 

the pupils and teachers of the school connected with this 
church from the congregation. As the nuns, with their 
pupils, all wearing white veils, slowly enter and take 
their places, they appear through the dim light like 
white robed angels. 

What a mighty contrast between the buried glories of 
the heathen Rome of the Palatine and the quiet rap- 
ture of this scene in the church of Trinita di Monte I 

Day follows day in quick succession in Rome, it is the 
land of tempus fugit. 

A morning in the Villa Farnesina, with Raphael's 
story of Cupid and Psyche charmingly arranged on the 
ceiling of the principal hall, and his incomparable 
Galatea on the wall of an adjoining room ; a short time 
in the Corsini palace for a brief study of Carlo Dolce's 
Madonna and Child, and of Salvator Rosa's magnificently 
realistic Prometheus Bound ; an afternoon's stroll over 
the Esquiline to Santa Maria Maggiore and beyond, 
through streets once full of life, now bounded by vine- 
yards on either side, to Santa Croce in Gerusalemme, 
and the day was ended. The church, Santa Croce, is 
situated in the most southeistern part of Rome, now a 
ver}^ desolate section. The pavement of the vestibule is 
partly covered with clinging bits of moss that has attached 
itself to the little earth between the stones. Few foot- 
steps now are made upon the pavement which formerly 
was covered with crowds of worshippers. The monasteries 



69 

are now occupied by Italian soldiers, and through the 
church echo the military commands, where once re- 
sounded the voices of those priests that made this sacred 
building renowned for the oratory of its preachers. To 
the west, extending near the wall of the city, is the 
covered archway connecting Santa Croce with San 
Giovanni in Laterano. This archway is now in partial 
ruins, and as we walked in front of its numerous niches 
for shrines, where in days now passed, burned lamps 
with holy oil, and devotees repeated their earnest prayers, 
it seemed as if we were walking where desolation reigned 
alone. 

"W here the pilgrims with their prayers '?" 

The basilica of San Giovanni rises just north of the 
Porta San Giovanni. From the steps of the facade, is 
gained one of the most magnificent views in Rome. 
Far to the east, rise the snow capped Appenines, with 
beautiful, shifting lights of gold and purple; to the 
south, extends the broad Campagna to the bounding 
horizon; to the north, stretches the city, with its domes, 
steeples and embattled roofs. 

Within the Piazza, there is so much of historic worth, 
that selection seems impossible. Within the basilica, 
have been held five of the most important General 
Councils of the Church. Students of French History 
are reminded of the Oecumenical council which here 
abolished the Pragmatic Sanction and concluded the 



70 

Concordat between the Pope and Francis I. by which 
the liberties of the Gallican Church were sacrificed. 
Here the popes have been crowned, and, from this 
piazza, have passed the magnificent papal processions to 
the Vatican and St. Peter's. 

The new tribune, recently completed by Leo. XIII., is 
very beautiful, but that which to us was of greatest 
interest was a small picture in distemper by Giotto. 

It is placed upon one of the columns separating the 
nave from the right aisle, and represents BonifiCe VIII. 
announcing the first Jubilee. The year of the first 
Jubilee was the year of Dante's sublime vision of the 
descent to the Inferno. This picture suggests Dante's 
intense dislike of the character of Boniface, "the new 
Pharisee. " It suggests also the tender affection that 
existed between the artist and the poet. The Porta 
Santa owes its origin to the Jubilee, and as one turns to 
the Porta Santa of this church, one wonders whether the 
year nineteen hundred will open this fast closed portal. 

Across the nave, from Giotto's picture, is the magnifi- 
cent chapel of the Corsini. ''The richest marbles, the 
most elaborateornaments and gilding, columns of precious 
stone, bas reliefs, and even gems have been lavished on 
its decorations with a profusion quite without a parallel 
in any other chapel in Rome. Notwithstanding this 
excess of ornament, the whole has been controlled and 
subdued by a correct taste." Near the basilica, stands 



71 

the Baptistery, where is the immease porphyry vase in 
which Rienzi bathed, the night before he appeared with 
his insignia of knight-hood. At the left is the chapel of 
the Sc«ila Santa. As we entered the building, many 
penitents were laboriously ascending the steps upon their 
knees. Fair, young maidens, elegantly dressed matrons, 
peasants, in picturesque costumes from the Campagna, 
and beggars in filth and rags were engaged in like devo- 
tion. 

Thus shall they be in the presence of God, who sees 
not the external, but judges only from the motive. 

"As He pronounces lastly on each deed, 
Of so much fame in Heaven expect thy meed." 

The palace adjoining the basilica is of interest to the 
visitors, who enjoy antique statues and mosaics. 

In the centre of the piazza, stands the first obelisk 
brought to Rome from Egypt, and it is also the largest 
obelisk in the Eternal City. With reluctance, we left 
San Giovanni and turned toward the Esquiline Hill, on 
the summit of which, stands the basilica of Santa Maria 
Maggiore. This church has two beautiful facades ; one 
faces the north piazza, in the centre of which stands an 
obelisk, the other faces the south piazza in which is a 
beautiful, white column surmounted by a statue of the 
Virgin, represented as standing upon snow balls. 

The rich mosaics and fine sculptures in the Borghese 
chapel rencer this church very worthy of earnest 
study. 



72- 

The ceiling of the nave, we were told, is gilded with 
gold brought from America, an offering of the King of 
Spain to the Roman Pontiff. In Santa Croce in Geru- 
salemme, we stood upon earth from Holy Land, in 
Santa Maria Maggiore we stood beneath gold from our 
own Continent. Here the East and the West have 
met to do honor to His Name to whom all nations shall 
be subject. 



73 



CHAPTER Vir. 

Early one morning, we drove out over the Appian 
way, to the Columbaria. Almost all of our party de- 
scended the steep stairway into the square vault, filled 
with niches, ilke pigeon-holes, containing urns with the 
ashes of the dead. It was not a pleasant place for pro- 
longed stay, and we were very glad to return to the 
bright sun light shining outside. 

This Columbarium is situated in the center of a rose 
garden, just in the rear of a vineyard. The beautiful^ 
pink roses, covering the bushes with masses of fragrance, 
w^ere too great temptation to be quite resisted, and our 
grave gentlemen and happy young ladies were, in ex- 
change for a few centesimi, the possessors of bunches 
of perfect blossoms. The drive along the Appian 
Way is disappointing, in that monotonous walls shut 
from view the Campagna. Many donkey carts, heavily 
ladened with articles of farm produce, passed us on their 
way to market. The Italian, seemingly a lazy fellow to 
Americans, is not quite justly rated by us. He rises 
early, completes the greater part of his day's work at the 
time when Americans are beginning to shake off the 



74 

weariness of Morpheus. We then see him resting and, 
before we pronounce him indolent, let us question him 
in respect to what he has already accomplished. We often 
condemn him because he permits the wife to do what 
seems to be the greater and heavier part of the work. 
It is not because he is unkind, or is lacking in affection 
for her, but it is the result of ignorance and habic. 
Habit long continued is an ungovernable tyrant, and, 
when passed from one generation to another, it becomes 
a monster not to be overcome save by the spirit born of 
many generations of enlightenment. Generally, in 
meeting the peasants returning from their work on the 
Campagna, the man, with the implements of toil, is on 
the donkey's back, while the woman slowly and labori- 
ously walks by the side of the rider, oftentimes carrying 
an infant in her arms. Occasionally she spurs the 
donkey on to greater speed, as her lordly husband may 
require. Yet she seems content, — content because she 
knows no better life, and for comfort seeks the solace 
of the church. It seems quite necessary that this 
passionate, music-loving people should have a service 
with much ritual ; they would find no enjoyment in a 
service less typical than that which gives them many 
symbols. 

At the church of St. Sebastian, we entered the 
Catacombs. Each provided with a taper, took her 
place in the procession, with a priest at the head. We 



75 

passed slowly through the narrow passages, stopping 
now and then to examine a nichu containing a few bones 
of some Christian martyr, or a recess still sealed, or the 
ceiling of some vaulted opening. 

The few frescoes w^hich remain are very dim in color- 
ing, and are left to show how the early Christians dec- 
orated these prison houses. 

To be a Christian in those days meant a perfect sacri- 
fice. It was not enough to confess oneself a follower of 
Christ in secret, one's faith declared itself because the 
Christian could not participate in the heathen worship 
of the Romans. We can not honor too highly that 
noble army of n:artyrs to the early faith of Christ. 

How we cringe and bow to the world, at the present 
day, because we fear some sarcasm from the lips of the 
powerful ! How we accept a faith easy in its require- 
ments, because the flesh is master of us ! Stand where 
those early Christians lived as moles beneath the soil, 
shut off from God's beautiful sunlight, obliged to give up 
homes, dear associations and all that made life happy 
upon the earth, and see if the excuses, that we often 
make for leading selfish lives, do not seem too petty and 
contemptible for beings of intellect to entertain. 

There must come then to the mind of every thought- 
ful person of whatever creed, a belief in a power above 
mankind, and the question, " What am 7, 'and what is 



76 

man that Thou art mindful of him T " 11- unspoken in 
every heart. 

A half hour's wandering through these blind alleys, 
found us (juite ready to breathe the thinner air upon the 
surface, and we brought, from that brief journey, a 
greater degree of charity than we had had, for those who 
seemingly adore all that pertains to the early per- 
secuted Christians. From the catacombs, go to the 
Coliseum, at once the fride and shame of Rome. Carry 
with you, in memory, Dore's Christian Martyrs, and ask 
yourself which commands the greater admiration from 
you, the builders of this magnificent pile for the gratifi- 
cation of a selfish, cruel people, or the brave spirits that 
unflinchingly endured the most cruel tortures in this 
blood stained arena. We welcomed gladly a resfe for 
quiet thought, before turning to other scenes of different 
interest. 

An excursion from Rome to Tivoli called us all out at 
an early hour. A few minutes drive by carriage and we 
were transferred to the tramway which bore us rapidly 
out over the Campagna, past the church of San Lorenzo, 
to the slopes of Monte Ripoli, on which is situated 
Tivoli, the ancient Tibur, eight hundred and thirty feet 
above the level of the sea. 

The ascent to the town, through a grove of olives, is 
very steep but picturesque. 



77 

"Behind 
Were realms of upland, prodigal in oil, 
And hoary to the wind." 

As we left the car to enter a carriage, a drizzling, 
dismal rain somewhat lessened the ardor of our spirits, 
but we were in Tivoli, a place renowned for its important 
influence in the many wars of Rome, and the residence 
of men distinguished as warriors, statesmen and scholars. 
This had been an objective point for many years of study, 
and preparation for travel. Existing conditions when 
disagreeable are often so strong, that true appreciation 
of the existing beauty is not obtained. 

We drove to the hotel. La Sibilla, through a very 
narrow street. It was filled with such odors as Psyche 
discovered when she opened the false beauty-box of 
Venus. "Shut your eyes," said one of our party, 
"until you have arrived at the Temple of the Sibyl. "^ 
"Better say, shut your nose," added another somewhat 
susceptible to unsavory smells. When we had at last 
entered the hotel, a quaint, rambling structure, we 
rapidly equipped ourselves for a visit to the Cascades. 
Upon a terrace, at the rear of the hotel, stands a beauti- 
ful circular temple, twenty- one and one-half feet in 
diameter, surrounded by an open portico of eighteen 
columns, ten of which are perfect. They are in the 
Corinthian order, having beautiful capitals ornamented 
with lilies. The entablature bears very fine sculptures 
of flowers and heads of oxen. 



78 

This charming temple stands upon the overhanging 
rock of the valley of the Anio and the beautiful Cascades. 
The view from this point is very fine. Landscape painters 
raay well linger in a spot so full of subjects, that none 
selected could be without beauty. The scenery of Tivoli 
is well known to all people through the many repro- 
ductions by difi'erent artists. No artist, save Poussin, 
has, in our opinion, caught the weird suggestions of this 
landscape. 

Beautiful pictures, very true to nature, in which the 
color has been skilfully handled, have been made, the 
subjects of which lie in this deep, irregular valley, but 
Poussin alone throws over these landscape paintings a veil 
of mystery. His dark, rich coloring, with deep shadows, 
gives oftentimes an unlimited depth to the recesses 
in the background, and the Sirens of the caves and the 
Sibyl of the Temple are ever near, if not present, in his 
masterly creations. 

We crossed to the opposite bank of the ravine, from 
wbich a very extensive view of the valley could be ob- 
tained. The cascades, falling into the valley at the 
height of more than a hundred feet, contrasted with 
the brilliant vegetation and the rich coloring of massive 
brick- work, produce a scene of striking interest. 

Many of us descended by a narrow foot-path, winding 
down by the side of the large cascade, to Neptune's 
Grotto. Graceful ferns overhang the rocky sides of the 



79 

path which in many places is cut from the jutting cliffs. 
Above this zigzag way, the dark cypresses stand like 
mournful sentinels over the wild, tumultuous water 
sprites below. Across the valley are the deserted 
grottoes of the Sirens. 

The legend runs that, in olden times, when Italy was 
in her golden age, the sirens, under Neptune's sway, 
inhabited the now forsaken caves and, oftentimes, as 
shades of evening settled down upon the vale, in the 
open doorways of their grottoes, they sang such entrancing 
songs that mortals were allured into their treacherous 
domains and sank, forever, beneath the waters of the 
Anio. 

For in the years of sprite and gnome, 
The witching sirens had their home 

In charming Tivoli. 

Up from the spray of the lowest fall, we clambered, 
with our hands filled with the graceful fronds of many 
varieties of ferns, and our minds busy with recalling 
legends of mythic days of gods and goddesses, sea 
nymphs and bewitching sirens. When we arrived at the 
highest terrace, we found ourselves in the prosaic condi- 
tion of being very hungry ; poetry and mythic romance 
speedily vanished and we hastened to the hotel for the 
lunch already ordered. Had the Harpies been there 
before us ? Where were the viands with their imagined 
appetizing flavors ? Surely not on the table spread in the 
ancient hall. . But ''nice customs sometimes courtesy" 



80 

to hunger and, with a determination to accommodate 
ourselves to the requirements of the time, we began the 
repast. Bread, so hard that it was somewhat uncertain 
whether it might not be small boulders of travertine, 
with butter so odorous that smelling salts and perfumed 
handkerchiefs were in instant requisition, formed our 
initial course. Beef- steak, so called, garnished with the 
all-powerful butter, we were constrained to permit the 
waiter to carry away untasted. A peculiar kind of 
conglomerate pastry with pudding of various colors was 
not entirely palatable. Very lively cheese circulated 
freely from one end of the board to the other, without 
patronage. Half ripened grapes and musty wine com- 
pleted the lunch, but alas ! had not satisfied the demands 
of hunger. "Sight-seeing is not altogether rose colored 
in this town of Tivoli," remarked one of our party. 
"Not when you are hungry," was the response. 

We were quite ready to depart, and as we passed into 
the little square into which the narrow street of the hotel 
led, we hailed joyously the appearance of a chestnut- 
vender, roasting the nuts to a delightful brown. A 
lunch of roasted chestnuts is delicious at certain times. 
This was one of the times, "The Villa d'Este on your 
left, ladies," announced our good Doctor, who wished 
no point ol^interest to be left unnoticed. The Villa 
d'Este, the sometime home of Lucretia Borgia, had 
no importance then to us ; chestnuts were the all- 



81 

absorbing subject. For us, amusing remembrances will 
always be associated with the home of Lucretia Borgia 
in Tivoli. Descending to the plain, at the foot of the 
slope on which is situated Tivoli, we entered Hadrian's 
villa, one of the most magnificent ruins in Italy. 



82 



CHAPTER VIII. 

It seems to have been Hadrian's intention to repre- 
sent, in miniature, places of interest which he visited in 
the East. 

It was a pleasing fancy of the "travelled" emperor, 
and his immense wealth enabled him to carry out his 
design even in minutest details. An avenue of beautiful 
cypresses leads to the lowest entrance. The cypress, 
with its sombre color and swaying motion, is in keeping 
with a scene of ruins. As it sways to and fro, bending 
gracefully as if beneath a burden of sorrow, the sough of 
the wind through the branches is like a voice calling in 
low tones, / mourn, mourn, mourn. We left the avenue, 
and entered the Greek Theatre where, with the foundations 
of the stage, the rows of seats and the external corridors 
still distinguishable, it was easy to recall a brilliant 
Roman Assembly listening to the eloquence of some 
impassioned actor or applauding the grand chorus of 
which the emperor was fond. 

Of the beautiful porch, made in imitation of the 
painted porch at Athens, nothing remains but a part of 
one wall and a few fragments of the parallel arcades. 



83 

The plateau of the hill selected by Hadrian for this im- 
mense structure was not large enough for all the build- 
ings, so that he extended it on the western and south- 
western sides by gigantic substructures which contain 
three stories of vaulted chambers. These rooms are 
supposed to have been occupied by the imperial slaves. 
The beautiful mosaic floors of the rooms on the extreme 
western part are quite uninjured. 

The magnificent fitting up of these rooms proves that 
they were among the state apartments. Many of the 
finest marbles in the Vatican and other galleries were 
discovered in this part of Hadrian's villa. The famous 
mosaic of the Capitol, known as Pliny's Doves, was 
brought from this palace. 

The Basilica has the remains of thirty-six marble 
pillars and a magnificent marble flooring. As we entered 
this room, and saw, lying near the base of the ruined 
columns, many loose pieces of a beautiful blue stone, the 
temptation to take a few was very strong, but an armed 
guard who had forbidden the removing of any fragment 
of stone and who did not permit us to go out of his 
sight, prevented any yielding to a w^eakness for collect- 
ing souvenirs. 

Among the almost numberless rooms of this vast pile, 
one of the most luxurious is the Nymphaeum. It con- 
tains a white marble water-basin, with an artificial island 
adorned with columns. From this was an entrance to 



84 

the Hall of Philosophy. This Hall shows the remains 
of many niches once filled with statues of the Greek 
philosophers. To the east, extends the Vale of Tempe, now 
covered by trees with a dense foliage ; on the western 
side is the immense race course overlooked by the im- 
perial apartments. On the southern side of this exten- 
sive structure, were the Baths, beyond which, Hadrian 
caused a valley to be cut in the tufa rock which he 
named the Vale of Canopus. At the extremity of this, 
he erected a temple and numerous small buildings, in 
which he had festivals held in the Egyptian manner. 
These structures he decorated with many Egyptian 
statues most of which are now in the Egyptian museum 
of the Vatican. Southeast of the villa, the Emperor 
constructed Tartarus in an artificial ravine two-hundred 
and twenty yards long and twenty yards wide, through 
which flowed the river Styx which disappeared within 
two subterranean passages connected with the ravine. 

Over the ruined walls, Nature has spread a luxurious 
growth of ferns, mosses and tufts of mignonette, as if 
she would cover the injuries made by Totila, when he 
used these palaces as barracks, «tnd the further destruc- 
tion made in the search for Art Treasures. 

It is said that the owners of this -villa, who recently 
sold it to the Italian government, acquired a large for- 
tune, by selling the exquisite marble columns and blocks 
for building purposes. 



85 

After several hours spent in exploring these interest- 
ing ruins, we drove to the wayside station, to wait the 
arrival of the train from Tivoli. 

The times of arrival and departure of railway trains in 
Italy are not fixed with a great degree of certainty. 
The officials enjoy the irregularity somewhat more than 
the travellers. 

Our lunch at Tivoli had not served as a sufficient 
fortification for a long ramble over fallen columns, ruined 
walls, and through deserted valleys, so that, tired and 
hungry, we waited, at the junction of the drive to 
the Villa with the main road to Tivoli, for the arrival of 
the train for Rome. No shelter was afforded us by any 
building, so that, wandering along the well paved road, 
discussing the ability of the ancient Romans, as road- 
makers, we tried to occupy ourselves during the tedious 
time of waiting. Some of our party climbed to the top 
of a wood-pile, standing at the corner, and picturesquely 
arranged themselves in patient attitudes. 

Like other angels of whom Milton sings, they found 
the '^ascent easy," but the "descent adverse" to them. 

The feasibility of walking into Rome was considered, 
as the evening shades crept over the plain, and we feared 
that malaria might approach with dangerous result. At 
last the long expected whistle was heard, indicating that 
the train was leaving Tivoli, and soon it came slowly 
down the mountain to the level of the Campagna. 



S6 

The steam tramway from Rom'e to Tivoli is not a 
"limited express," but one of much accommodation and 
many delays. Although we tried to divert the attention 
from that which occupied the minds of all, it &oon re- 
turned to us with overwhelming force. One of our 
matrons, rich in various expedients, proposed that those 
of us who were placed in the same section with herself 
should each suggest a desired menu for a good American 
dinner, in which there should be a happy mixture of the 
"substantial and the non-essentials." 

I doubt, if ever Hadrian in his gorgeous banqueting 
hall had so varied menu of toothsome viands as we 
formed in the dusty tram of Tivoli. Many of us earnest- 
ly hope that the hospitable matron of our party, who 
promised a realization, in the future, of our ideal dinner, 
will not forget, after prolonged travel, to carry out in 
full her projected plan. Late in the evening, in the 
midst of rain and darkness, we arrived in Rome. A 
good dinner, a comfortable room with quiet rest, awaited 
UP, and the following morning found us ready for a day's 
work on the Capitoline Hill. 



87 



CHAPTER IX. 

From the church of Ara CoeL, which contains the- 
Bambino, to the Tarpeian rocii, to which Hawthorne has 
given an added interest by making it the scene of the 
tragedy of the Marble Faun, every part is of intense in* 
terest. The piazza of the Capitol is almost always the 
play-ground for merry little boys and girls, saucy as the 
typical street-gamin is everywhere, but pretty as the- 
little cherubs in Raphael's Madonna di San Sisto. They 
formed, in their play about the statue of Marcus Aurelius,. 
very striking groups, which we admired almost as much 
as the perfect bronze statue of the old heathen emperor. 
From some points of the piazza, the statue of horse and 
rider is so lifelike that the little children appeared to be 
in danger from the rearing horse just ready to rush for- 
ward. 

The bronze-wolf in the conservatory, although an ex- 
cellent example of Etruscan Art, attracts not so mucb 
as the lively one in his cage, near the grand stair- way. 
The story of Romulus and Remus is not lost sight of in- 
Rome. The cave in which the wolf took refuge is shown 
at the base of the Palatine Hill ; the government causes- 



88 

the wolf of the Capitol to be kept in memory of this 
legendary event in the early history of Rome ; and the 
little pieces of butter served at the hotels are stamped 
with a miniature relief of the wolf and her two young 
charges. The room of the Dying Gaul and the Marble 
Faun is where one lingers longest on the Capitoline 
Hill. 

Here are the impassioned beauty of the warrior 
yielding at last to death, the wondrous grace of the 
playful, happy Faun of Praxiteles' School, and the sim- 
plicity and perfect anatomy of Antinous. 

The Marforio, that kept up a constant fire of wit 
and repartee for many years with Pasquin, rests in the 
•court of the museum of the Capitol. He is idle here, 
removed from the busy Forum, where he was made the 
vehicle for replying to the attacks of Pasquin. Many 
days previous to this, we had visited Pasquin. It is a 
very mutilated torso, yet shows remains of great beauty. 
We hope that sometime the two gossips may both rest 
happily in the Capitol. Pasquin, it is said, at one time 
made himself so obnoxious to the Pope, Adrian VI., that 
that Pontiff ordered the statue to be burned and thrown 
into the Tiber, but one of the pope's valued friends sug- 
gested that the ashes of Pasquin would turn into frogs 
and croak more terribly than before, hence the papal 
-command was withdrawn. 



89 

Many witty dialogues are recorded as having occurred 
between Marforio and Pasquin, and many more sarcastic 
sayings are attributed to Pasquin alone. When the cele- 
brated bull of Urban VIII., excommunicating all persons 
who took snuff in the churches of Seville, appeared, 
Pasquin quoted the passage from Job, "Wilt thou break 
a leaf driven to and fro ? and wilt thou pursue the dry 
stubble?" During a bad harvest in the time of Pius 
VI., the small Italian loaf of bread decreased a great deal 
in size. The pope's passion for inscribing his name 
upon all the works of art placed in the Vatican during 
his pontificate was Sfitirized by Pasquin. Marforio- 
asked, ^'Pasquin, my gossip, why are the loaves so small?" 
The following day there appeared, upon Pasquin, a small 
loaf with the inscription, "Munificentia Pii Sexti." 

The modern Romans regard Pasquin as holding a 
very important part in their social system, and regret 
much that Marforio has retired from the busy scenes 
of political life. 

The new museum, now forming in the Conservatory^ 
contains many objects of great excellence, among others 
a beautiful young Hercules and a very fine head of Janus. 

"What see you in the past, old god, 
On which you fix your gaze ? 
What see you in the coming years, 
Rich joys unlike past days ?" 

Of the many heads of Janus seen in different art 
museums in Rome, this is the most satisfactory. In 



90 

most of these statues, the two faces are alike and suggest 
nothing, they are.often beautiful but have no expression. 
In this Janus of the Capitol, the faces bear strong re- 
semblance to each other in outline of feature, but differ 
in expression. 

The face of the future is that of a person who, peering 
into some unexplored region, desires to know more 
of it than is made clear to him. An unuttered question 
seems to tremble upon the half-parted lips. The face of 
the past is that of one who has seen much, and grown 
severe in his experience of the ills of life. It is the face 
of a stern yet just judge, who wishes that no event of his 
past career should pass from his view, and the earnest, 
piercing gaze, which the sculptor has given to this face 
of Janus, scans every occurrence in the years gone by. 
It is a wonderful creation of plastic art. 

The picture gallery contains few works of real worth. 
Guercino's master-piece. The Burial of Saint Petronella, 
is very finely executed. A replica of Annibale Caracci's 
Christ on the Cross, has a wonderful handling of light in 
the background, but it is so badly hung that only an 
imperfect notion of it can be obtained. 

After an enjoyable day, among the treasurers of art 
and the antiquities of the Capitoline Hill, v^e slowly 
descended the beautiful steps, forming a gentle ascent to 
the summit of the hill, and stood for a moment where 
*'The last of the Tribunes" is said to have been killed. 



91 

It chanced that this day was the anniversary of the 
birthday of one of our company and, in honor of this 
auspicious event, a grand serenade was given to her 
in the evening, by the young ladies of our party. 

In Roman costumes, improvised, with true Yankee 
ingenuity, from odds and ends of bright fabrics and rare 
bits of antiquity picked up in former travels, our maidens 
looked not unlike the veritable Ausonian beauties. One 
of them possessed rare skill in producing sweet sounds 
from many musical instruments, and the guitar was re • 
sponsive to her magic touch. Like Milton's old Damoetas, 
the matrons of our party loved to hear their song, and 
appreciated the "fun" quite as much as the young folks. 
Three of our young ladies were so fortunate as to have 
birthday anniversaries while in Rome. 

From the Capitol to the Forum, we found it natural to 
tsxtend our explorations. We descended to the pavement 
of the Via Sacra and stood where Oaesar often passed, 
worshipped as a god- like hero ; where Antony's eloquence 
won for Csesar dead greater glory than Caesar living 
possessed ; where Augustus trod as Emperor the stones 
pressed for long years by republican feet ; where occurred 
the many thrilling events that distinguished the Roman 
nation from all others. 

The House of the Vestal Virgins, in direct communi- 
cation with the Palace of the Emperor on the Palatine, 
is a very interesting ruin of the Forum. Statues of the 



92 

Vestals, which once adorned this building, are now 
found in different museums of Rome and Naples. 

We passed on through the Arch of Titus, with its 
perfect work in relievo, to the Coliseum and Arch of 
Constantino where the Via Sacra ends in the Via Trium- 
phalis. Amid all these ruined splendors of the past, it 
was almost painful to know that we could not break 
away from the present, that only in imagination could 
we sweep away the ragged, filthy old men and women 
selling relics along the Sacred Way, and bring back the 
triumphal processions of Titus and Constantino. 

Day after day, when a few minutes of leisure afforded 
opportunity, we strolled into this enchanted spot. 

How Horace loved the Via Sacra, and chose it for his 
favorite promenade, he tells us in his own, clear language, 

"Ibam forte Via Sacra, sicut meus est mos, 
Nescio quid meditans nugarum, et totus in illis." 

Near the corner of the Forum, where stands the Arch of 
Septimius Severus, is one of the few remaining struct- 
ures of the time of the Kings, the Mamertine Prison, 
consisting of two cells, one above the other, excavated in 
the tufa rock of the Capitoline Hill, and constructed in 
the massive Etruscan Architecture. The upper of these 
cells is far below^ the surrounding soil. A church has 
been built over this prison, through which entrance is 
gained to it. 

A flight of twenty-eight steps leads to the higher cell 
which is fourteen feet high, twenty-seven feet long and 



93 

nineteen feet broad with a circular aperture in the centre 
of the floor through which the prisoners were lowered to 
the cell beneath. 

The lower cell is nineteen feet long, nine feet 
wide, and six and a half feet high ; it receives its light 
and ventilation from the opening into the cell above. 

Sallust, in writing of this ancient prison for state 
criminals, says of this lower cell, ''In the prison called 
the Tullian, there is a place about ten feet deep, when 
you have descended a little to the left ; it is surrounded 
on the sides by walls, and is closed above by a vaulted 
roof of stone. The appearance of it, from the filth, the 
darkness, and the smell, is terrific." 

In this cell, it is supposed, that St. Peter and St. Paul 
were placed by Nero. Here is pointed out the 
fountain which miraculously sprang up in the pavement 
so that St. Peter might baptize his two jailers. 

Anterior to church tradition, history tells us that here 
Jugurtha was starved to death and the accomplices of 
Cataline strangled. 

It is a gloomy, horrible place, as if filled with ghosts 
of those who have suffered in ages past. 

"Why has man the will and power 
To make his fellow mourn ?" 

A visit to the Mamertine Prison unfits one for any 
other sight-seeing during the same day. 

With the sad pictures in one's mind that this abode of 
woe suggests, the bright and happy scenes are strangely 



94 

inharmonious, and other places of horror and gloom could 
hardly be endured immediately after an exit from this 
underground dungeon. Yet as we came out into the 
warm, clear sunlight, under the bending, deep blue sky, 
we wandered on through the old Velabrum, reluctant to 
go within any dwelling. But even Mamertine prisons 
cannot hold Father Time prisoner, and we were forced to 
obey his commands and take events as he scattered them 
around us. 



95 



CHAPTER X. 

Perhaps no day's work in Rome is more enjoyable 
than that of a day spent without any plan, a wandering 
about from place to place as fancy inclines 

In such way, one visits many strange nooks, and sees 
much of the modern Roman life among the poor. An 
early morning stroll took us to the Mausoleum of 
Augustus — it has come to a strange use in these days — 
and we passed to the court on the side toward the Via 
Ripetta to find a fountain, in a niche of the old wall of 
the Mausoleum, surrounded by a mass of maiden-hair 
fern growing from every crevice of the rock where it 
could find a bit of earth to which it could attach itself. 

From this "bit of beauty," we slowly passed down the 
Via Ripetta, to the first bridge across the Tiber. The 
heavy rains in the mountains had caused the water to 
rise rapidly, and from a somewhat sluggish stream, it had 
become a raging, furious torrent bearing down upon its 
turbulent waters many articles that it had seized in its 
course. 

A crowd of men, women and children had gathered by 
the steps near the approach to the biidge, and, in rapid 



tones, with many quick gestures, were discussing the 
possibility and probability of an inundation. From 
their manner*, it would be supposed that such an occur- 
rence would be a long looked-for pleasure. "The yellow 
locks of Father Tiber," sing the poets. Poetic imagina- 
tion finds beauty in all things, but to the ordinary 
mortal, who sees things as they are. Father Tiber has 
very filthy locks of the hue of light brown mud. To 
dig, in order to discover some antique statue of priceless 
value, is the dearest wish of many Romans and many 
visitors to Rome. To bend the Tiber from his course and 
search the space over which he flows is our modest wish. 
When we are told that the fabulously rich banker, Chigi, 
threw his plate, made for a grand banquet, into the Tiber 
in order that it might not be used again, and others, not 
to be outdone in extravagant display did likewise, and 
that many statues and mosaics also have been cast there, 
we wish much that we might wrest old Tiber's treasures 
from his grasp. 

We slowly made our way to the Palace Borghese. 
We admired much the fountain and miniature forest^ 
which a diagonal, corner niche in the second story of 
the palace holds. 

From an hour's quiet enjoyment in the courts and 
arcades of this palace, we hastened our steps towards 
Hilda's Tower. 



97 

For a half franc, we were permitted to enter and go 
up to the shrine of the Virgin, where a lamp is still kept 
burning. 

As we stood on the roof, far above the turmoil of the 
street beneath, where Hawthorne shows us Hilda in her 
purity, a flock of doves came settling down about us. As 
they came near us, daintily stepping along the roof, we 
wondered whether any of them were descendants of 
Hilda's doves and whether her story had been transmitted 
to them. They chattered very busily, as they looked 
at us with curious eyes, as if they fain would know why 
we had come. When we had descended the narrow 
stairway leading to the first floor beneath the tower, we 
looked up and saw one beautiful, glossy dove, a true bird 
of Venus, peeping down upon us, from the narrow open- 
ing above. A few minutes' walk and we were at the 
Palace Cancellaria, in our opinion tlie finest example of 
early Renaissance architecture in Rome. In the piazza 
of the Palace, a market was in progress. Everything of 
possible and impossible uses was exhibited in booths or 
donkey carts, by pretty maidens, battered old women 
and shrewd men. We despaired of finding the true 
valuation of anything. A Roman antique lamp was 
off'ered to us at different prices from forty to five francs. 

From the Cancellaria, we went for a little gossip with 
PasquJn, but he was less responsive than Hilda's doves, 
or the venders of old wares in front of the Palace. 



98 

A short drive took us to the Church of St. Augustine, 
where we found a vast concourse of worshipping devotees 
kneeling before a staute of the Madonna and Child by 
whom many claim to have been cured. If we could not 
worship in the spirit of those about us, we admired the 
statue, which, in many points, is a very fine work of art. 

To the Trastevere we hastened, where, just before enter- 
ing Santa Maria, we saw a game of mora played by 
some peasants from the Campagna. Alert and quick, 
their fingers moved with so great rapidity that to our 
untrained eyes, it was not possible to form any notion 
of the number shown. 

The church of St. Cecilia was dreary compared with 
the festival-day when we had visited it. 

The statue here of the martyred saint is extremely 
beautiful. Her life is a kind of inspiration still to those 
who read its lesson aright. 

Recrossing the Tiber, we stayed upon t^e bridge 
sufficient time to see where once stood the bridge defend- 
ed by the brave Horatius, then we visited, a second 
time, the Cloaca Maxima. The odors in the vicinity of 
this arched sewer are not like those of the Elysian Fields^ 
but, as one of our company remarked, "The sense of 
smell is of less importance than the sense of sight, hence 
to feast the eye, the nose must be content to sacrifice 
its pleasure." 



99 

We gave utterance to the thought that in the locality 
of the sewer it must be very unhealthful. We were 
assured, on the contrary, that the residents of that neigh- 
borhood were very long-lived. We were shown a gloomy 
room, lighted only from its doorway, just above the first 
opening of the sewer, and we saw a hale, old woman 
who had lived there, so she said, ninety-five years. 

We wondered what effect fresh air and a sweet smell- 
ing house would have upon her! 

The ramble in the vicinity of the Cloaca Maxima 
had put us into excellent condition for the Ghetto. 

"This horror will grow mild, this darkness light." 

Curiosity leads one to make a visit to the Ghetto, and 
sympathy with the sufferers from limited space, un« 
wholesome air, and general filthiness, induces a pro- 
longed stay. 

In the doorway of a den-like apartment, opening from 
a narrow street into which no ray of sunlight can ever 
fall, we saw two little children sitting, with faces a& 
beautiful as angels. It is true that our sweetest flowers 
are gathered oftentimes in most noxious places. The 
animal world differs not, in this respect, from the vege- 
table. In the shadow of past luxury, almost beneath 
the walls of the Orsini, and Cenci palaces, the des- 
cendants of the Children of Israel have obtained an abid- 
ing place. It is asserted that the present king of Italy 
has ordered the Ghetto to be rebuilt with wide streets- 



100 

and dwellings constructed according to hygienic laws and 
that soon the Jew will no longer be confined to one quar- 
ter of Rome. 

Out from these sights of sorrow and depravity, we 
drove to the church of San Pietro in Vincoli, an edifice 
small in size, but great in what it possesses, — the iVloses 
by Michelangelo. As we left the church, the setting sun 
sent his rays of mellow light across the blue heavens, 
and in a gentle twilight we made our way to our comfort- 
able quarters, gladly accepting the fact that w^e were not 
forced to lodge in the Ghetto. 



101 



CHAPTER XL 

A little friend inquiring about various points of 
interest in Rome and receiving somewhat lengthy and 
exhaustive replies asked, ^'Didn't you have any modern 
fun in the city of the Caesars ?" ^^Modern fun," we 
exclaimed, "what do you mean?" "0, just such things 
as girls like, operas, theatres, dancing, parties, etc." 

"Well, mv dear," was the response, ''most of us visit- 
ed Rome for what you would call very antique fun, hard 
study ; but, as you know, we had with us some very pretty, 
bright young ladies who enjoy such things as girls like 
quite as much as you do, and, occasionally, we old wise 
ones, were not averse to recreation, for 'a little nonsense 
now and then is relished by the wisest men' and women 
too." 

^'What did you have in the way of down right sport ?" 
continued our eager questioner. ''I do not see how one 
could be just young, gay and jolly with all those martyrs' 
bones, Mamertine Prison, and Coliseum, your next door 
neighbors." "It is easy enough to forget their existence, 
ma cherie, if you wish. What would you name a candy- 
pull, with charming young gentlemen to assist in form- 



102 

ing 'linked sweetness long drawn out' ?" ^'Just delight- 
ful ! And really did you have such in Rome ?" 

"That we did have such pleasure, there can be no 
doubt, succeeded by music, and dancing. We enjoyed^ 
too, the opera, and a really wonderful spectacular repre- 
sentation with ballet in which five hundred people took 
part." "You don't intend to say that five hundred 
people danced ?" 

"Yes, and all in perfect rhythm of motion." Like 
our little interrogator, many older people can not con- 
ceive of real, modern life in Rome. But Rome is a part 
of the world and modern civilization has entered there 
and asserted its sway as it has elsewhere. 

Education of the lower classes, is overthrowing super- 
stition, the inheritance of the past; modern inventions 
are putting aside a great deal of the physical labor ; and 
more liberal thought, under the present government, is 
making the Italian of the present day, more intelligent 
and self-controlled. 

We realized that holidays in Italy are like holidays in 
America, that even Thanksgiving Day, a peculiarly 
national day to us, was not wanting in its particular 
attraction, a fine dinner prepared for our American 
party. 

A very happy conceit of our good Doctor, the placing 
of a ring, bearing the pendant letters, ROMA, within 
a cake and bestowing the same upon the person fortunate 



103 

enough to find it in the piece taken by her, made a mer- 
ry ending for our Thanksgiving Dinner in Italy. 

Is one ever ready to leave Rome ? 

There is so much to study that, after a prolonged stay^ 
one is not content to leave the many objects of interest 
that have been only hastily visited. We were fortunate 
during our stay in Rome, in having the kind assistance 
of an artist, many years a resident there. To her we 
owe many pleasant visits to studios of modern artists, 
and glimpses into the present social life of the capital of 
united Italy. On the day preceding that of our depart- 
ure from Rome, we visited Werner's studio, and enjoyed 
his fine collection of water colors. 

Among other gems of art was an exquisite sketch of 
the small fountain of Trevi. His paintings are very 
delicate in finish, and lifelike. 

Still journeying southward, we were again out on the 
Campagna en route for Naples and other points of histor- 
ical importance in southern Italy. That was a sleepy 
ride, taken after a morning's hard work, and even classic 
conundrums failed to arouse us from our indolence. 

When we first saw Vesuvius, in the early evenings 
throwing a fiery radiance upon the daikened sky, while 
clouds of smoke hung about its summit, we understood 
how easily the imaginative Greeks believed the giants to 
be imprisoned beneath the volcanoes. When angry at 
their long imprisonment, they tried to break the bands 



104 

of their captivity, and strange rumbling sounds were 
heard issuing from the mountain. We hoped that the 
captive giant of Mt. Vesuvius would remain quiet during 
our stay in his vicinity. 

Beneath our window, " while the still morn went out 
with sandals gray," a Neapolitan hand-organ sounded 
its inspiring tones, and just across the small piazza of 
the h(.tel, a Scotch bag-pipe was being tuned. 

A kind of refrain was heard from adjoining rooms, in 
deep groans, smothered exclamations of anger and a 
general chorus of inharmonious sounds. One happy 
effect was produced by the bag-pipe, an accelerated speed 
in dressing. 

A drive through the crowded Via Toledo, in which 
everybody seems to be rushing with impetuous speed 
for the attainment of some object of importance, was 
succeeded by a pleasant ascent to the heights of Capo di 
Monte from which is obtained a very delightful view of 
the city. 

From this high plateau, the city beneath, situated 
picturesquely upon the slope of the hill, with its narrow 
streets opening into the broad avenue near the bay, was 
like a busy hive filled with murmuring bees. The beau- 
tiful bay, with its graceful curve from Ischia to Capri, 
is' clearly seen from this elevation. 

Many pleasing thoughts of the "sweet singer of Italy," 
the friend, adviser and confide7ite of Michelangelo, are 



105 

suggested bv the view of the island, many years her 
home. 

The wonderful blue of the Mediterranean, the clear 
atmosphere, the varying rich tints of color upon moun- 
tain and forest and the dense masses of smoke hovering 
above Vesuvius, make the scene like those that poets 
dream, "on summer eve by haunted stream." 

Here was formerly the rich Farnesian collection, now 
in the Neapolitan Museum The dismantled museum has 
very little of real worth remaining, but the church of St. 
Elmo, built in the form of a Greek cross, has admirable 
work in marble and petrified wood. Valuable rosettes 
made from Egyptian marble adorn the pilasters. The 
elaborately inlaid work of the altar-rail was executed by 
the former monks of the old monastery. It was a labor 
ot love, wrought with the greatest accuracy and skill. All 
the work in the church of St. Elmo, in marble and wood, 
was cut by the hands of those to whom this was an 
earthly home which they made as perfect as human skill 
could devise and human hands execute. In this church 
are fine examples of the Naturalistic School of painting, 
also a hint of the fierce controversy that raged between 
the school of Caravaggio and the Caracci. Here is a 
fine work by Domenichino which was almost destroyed 
by the members of the Naturalistic school. Although 
restored, it bears many marks of its mutilation. 



106 

In the sacristy, hangs The Entombment by Ribera, 
This is an excellent example of Ribera's power in 
depicting character by bold, strong outlines. 

The descent from Capo di Monte is very fine, in the 
direction of Prosilippo, where is the supposed tomb of 
Virgil. A drive along the street skirting the bay, in the 
new town, affords a broad view of the harbor, and the 
towns on the opposite shore. The royal park is on the 
one side, the liquid blue of the Mediterranean on the 
other, and the clear atmosphere everywhere. 

Dolce far niente life seems in keeping with this unsur- 
passed beauty. 

''But," suggests a friend who has spent many years in 
Italy," there are two sides to Neapolitan life. If 
entrancing scenes are found in New Naples, hpw is the 
condition when one has passed around Point d' Oro ?" 
Artistic, undoubtedly, are the scenes on the quay of Santa 
Lucia, but not entirely suggestive of sweet-smelling 
savors, or arranged according to Heaven's first law. 

A convenient, easy mode of living, is that of the 
poorer classes in Naples, it involves little expense, little 
labor and much bonhomie. 

All live in the streets ; here they prepare their simple 
dishes, perform their slight ablutions and eat their 
repasts. 

Here may be seen a happy group of six or seven peo- 
ple eating macaroni from a disk in common, while close 



107 

by sits a mother trying to make neat the somewhat 
unkempt hair of her rebellious son. A few steps 
removed, sit two gossips knitting, and at their feet, rolling 
in the mud and street filth, are three little youngsters 
not troubled by any unnecessary clothing and quite com- 
panionable with those lively, minute creatures that make 
miserable the life of the nervous traveller. 

"You will not mind the flea after a little while," 
remarked a native of Italy. We found his statement 
true, in a limited sense, "So much a long communion 
tends to make us what we are." 

Here all things appear to be in common, but we soon 
learned that individual rights were strictly observed. 

One hungry fellow, in the act of helping himself to a 
handful of macaroni from his neighbor's dish, was caught 
by the losing party, and soundly belabored for the 
indulgence of his thieving propensity. He yelled as if 
life was being extinguished in him, but no one seemed 
disturbed, in short the uproar caused only a few to take 
any notice of the fray. This is Neapolitan life among 
the poorer classes ; life with few cares for wants are 
few. 

To the rich museum of Naples, a visitor soon directs 
his steps. A buried past uncovered for study, is in 
the Pompeian rooms ; treasures rich and rare are in the 
rooms of bronzes ; invaluable masterpieces of Greek 
gculpture ; many gems in paintings ; and a library, of 



108 

which the Neapolitans are justly proud, complete the 
collection. No one can make any study of the Pom- 
peian frescoes (very fascinating are these quaint antique 
frescoes), without being attracted by the face of Medea 
in "Medea Alone in Contemplation." The terrible 
struggle between the mother's love and the wife's 
jealousy i:s so clearly depicted, that the beholder involun- 
tarily shudders at the unuttered anguish. 

The eyes with cold, steel-blue gleam are those of a 
demon ; the mouth, with lurking tenderness, is that of a 
loving, grieving mother. 

He who sees this^ picture will carry through life the 
knowledge that he has seen a conflict between the evil 
and the good too severe for human strength. 



109 



CHAPTER XJI. 

From the Quay of Santa Lucia we sailed one morning 
to the Blue Grotto of Capri. 

"Bathed in the glorious blue of Capri's grot, 

The soul forgets, the sorrows sad of life, 

And wonders whether in this world or not 

He rests, removed from busy strife." 

Out from the dazzling blue we came, and sailed to the 
little town of Capri, at the foot of a mountain, on the 
height of which may be seen the remains of temples 
built by Augustus and Tiberius. 

As we left the boat and passed up the sandy beach, a 
long line of donkeys, each led by a woman, was at the 
side of 'the narrow path that it was necessary for us to 
traverse. The first donkey was a strong animal and 
guided by a young woman with a blight, saucy face- 
As we approached her, she looked up, with a half be- 
witching, half-impertinent smile, and addressing the 
gentleman of our party who possesspd a tall, finely 
developed figure, said, ^'Amerwaii, good, strong Jackass.'* 
It was not quite the compliment an American expects to 
receive on the shores of Italy, nevertheless, the joke was 



110 

fully appreciated and we did not quite like to learn that 
the first donkey of the line was named American. 

Having enjoyed a wholesome lunch at the Hotel d'e 
Grotte Bleu, where Longfellow is said to have stayed, 
wc examined the coral brought for sale by very pretty 
young women. The woman of Capri are very beautiful 
in youth. To this charm, many American artists have 
paid homage jmd selected for themselves wives from the 
young women of this island. 

Only in Capri, were we annoyed by beggars. Even 
here the beauty of their faces, the brightly colored 
costumes, the entire lack of any appearance of poverty 
afforded as much amusement as their persistent begging 
gave annoyance. 

A brief visit in Sorrento w^as filled with pleasure. 
The town is situated, with a far reaching view over the 
blue Mediterranean. 

To lovers of Tasso, it gave much satisfaction to look 
upon the house pointed out as his, to walk where he 
must have often passed when wooing the assistance of 
Calliope. To others of our party seeking material 
comfort combined with artistic beauty, the graceful 
wood carvings and finely woven silks proved a strong 
attraction. Unique enjoyment was afforded us by a 
company of graceful young men and women dancing the 
Tarantella. The old nursery rhyme. 



Ill 

"Laughing does a person good, 
Muscles exercising, 
Helping to digest the food, 
So 'tis not surprising," 

had a full trial as we watched the ludicrous combinations 
and startling figures of the national dance of Italy. 
However laughable the action, it is always the perfection 
of grace. It is doubtful whether an Italian could be 
surprised into awkwardness. Long will the members of 
our party, remember the cornucopia figure. We w^e so 
absorbed in watching the vigorous efforts made to ignite 
the "pendulous cornucopia," and all in turn so determined 
to succeeed in setting on fire the temporary resem- 
blance to Darwin's "missing link," that we became 
utterly oblivious of showers of wax from the candle, 
used as a taper, until, in despair of success in producing 
a conflagration, we glanced at our frocks and saw them 
plentifully covered with basso relievo in wax. 

One of our party suggested the appropriateness of the 
cornucopia dance as an addition to our American 
Christmas games. We doubt if it could be quite perfectly 
danced by others than Italians, and in the land where it 
is believed that the bite of the Tarantula has produced 
the variety of action in the Tarantella. 

We drove from Sorrento between orange groves from 
which were wafted to us rich fragrance, beneath over- 
hanging cliffs surmounted by the gray olives and often 



112 

along the shore of the deep blue bay of Naples, on 
through Castelamare to the splendors of buried Pompeii. 

"All have departed from this once gay haunt 
Of noisy crowds, and silence holds the air. 
Yet, on this spot, Time eives us to behold 
A spectacle as stern as those of old. 
As dreamily I gaze, there seem to rise, 
From all the mighty ruin, wailing cries." 

From the city of the dead, we went to La Cava, where 
we found very delightful entertainment in a little hotel 
wheie, for many weeks, stayed Bryant, and where his 
memory is held in very tender reverence.. It was a 
pleasant surprise to find a very lifelike portrait of our 
grand poet adorning the wall of the refectory. 

La Cava is a "poet's rest," where one may fitly call 
about himself "the fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train.'' 

Nestled in a beautiful valley of the Appenines, with a 
monastery crowning the heights and a little stream 
"chattering on its way" to the sea, this lovely, little town 
offers rest to the weary traveller. 

The monastery is very rich in manuscripts, aud thus 
affords material in abundance for the student who stays 
his journeying footsteps to abide awhile beneath the 
'shadows of the Appenines. 

From La Cava, many of us went to Paestum by the 
sea. Cities, like people, rise, fall and die. How sad to 
stand where once a glorious, busy, thriving mart mad« 
resonant with happy sounds the pulsing air, while now 



113 

desolation alone controls ! Are all the joyous utterances 
of the happy Greek colony once here, lost forever ? 
Or are the sounds still echoing through eternal space, 
still in the air around deserted Paestum ? 

The temple of Neptune, the perfection of architectural 
grace, attests the former glory of this doomed city. 

The sadness that creeps over one here becomes almost 
oppressiv:, and we feel like crushing out the rich vegeta- 
tion that, by contrast, heightens the dreary solitude. 

"And its roses, all in bloom, 
Seem to tinge the fatal skies, 
Ot that lonely land of doom." 

"Very enjoyable drives are found in the vicinity of La 
Cava, full of the beauties of nature, and the ruins of 
perfect art. By the Salernian Gulf, and north along 
the sea, a finely paved road winds in and out beneath the 
jutting rocks, "where the waves and mountains meet." 
Here lies Amalfi, a remnant of her tormer greatness. 
High above stands the monastery no longer occupied by 
monks. They, like the city, belong to the past. As we 
stood within the chapel of the monastery, a Capuchin 
monk entered, one who had been obliged to leave upon 
the adoption of the Act of Suppression, but who had 
become a parish priest in the town below, coming up 
daily to conduct the service in the chapel, for the 
visitors in the Monastery now used as Hotel. 

No longer, as in Longfellow's time, is this Monastic 
House, "lord of vineyards and of lands." It is in the 



114 

possession of persons who conduct a thriving hotel and 
pension business. No place of residence in Amalfi 
could be more beautiful than this convent perched "high 
in air." Far above all turmoil and traffic of the town, 
the resident here looks down over red-tiled roofs upon 
the blue Mediterranean over which bends lovingly the 
smiling heavens. At a short distance on the right, the 
Caneto rushes down through gorges ot the massive rock, 
while, all around, orange groves with their rich coloring 
of deep green and gold send puffs of perfume through 
the clear air. The winding stairway of several hundred 
steps, leading down into town, passes through many 
buildings, some of w^hich are private houses ; one was a 
large macaroni manufactory, at the doorways of which, 
upon the stairway, stood men with large quantities of 
macaroni, offering it for sale. 

Every where in the town are evidences of the former 
occupation of Amalfi by the Normans. They have left 
traces of the 'Sviid luxuriance of the architecture of the 
Saracens, adopted into the severe Norman style." 

"Where amid her mulberry trees, 
Sits Amalfi in the heat, 
Bathing ever her white feet 
In the tidelesa summer seas." 

From Amalfi, a drive of several miles through a 
severe rain storm tested the amiability of our party and 
rendered us quite willing to end carriage travel at La 
Cava and return to Naples by railway. At Naples, we 



115 

were sorry to lose from -our number, three enthusiastic, 
delightful travellers who possessed the rare quality of 
finding something pleasant everywhere and losing sight 
of all disagreeable occurrences. They possessed, in the 
truest sense, such characters as Milton gives to his 
Allegro. 



116 



CHAPTER xrir. 

A second visit to Rome, where every moment was 
filled with pleasurable work, found us even more re- 
luctant to leave the "city of buried Treasures" than we 
had been when we departed for Naples. 

While we discredit any truth in the legend of the 
Fountain of Trevi, it is a rather pleasing fancy, and half 
in earnest, half in sport, we availed ourselves of the 
opportunity to quaff its limpid water. From Rome to 
Pisa, the route lies so nearly parallel to the coast that 
the views are charming. A glorious sunset could never 
be forgotten by one who has watched the fiery whe>4 drop 
into the western sea, off the coast of Italy. 

Our company had become somewhat divided, several 
had gone on to Pisa by an early train ; four, whose sunny, 
sympathetic natures had rendered them particularly 
companionable, had decided to remain longer in Rome. 
How we sharply reproved ourselves for breaking the 
tenth commandment in respect to our neighbors who 
were to remain in Italy ! We honestly confess to coveting 
most strongly their opportunity of making a prolonged 
stay in the seven-hilled city. 



117 

Two of us, matron and maid, were left to make the 
journey from Rome to Pisa. We enjoyed a compart- 
ment by ourselves and broke the monotony of the journey 
by enforcing upon each other the full significance of 
the command that a person must not be permitted to sleep, 
in travelling over the Carapagna, during the evening. 
Each had a kind of malicious delight in rousing the 
other from the much desired nap. 

We arrived in Pisa at midnight, and, having satisfied 
the city ofiicial of customs that we were not engaged in 
the contraband business of smuggling tobacco and liquors, 
we were permitted to depart in peace to our hotel. 

A rainy Sunday in Pisa has all the elements of misery 
to be conceived. 

A drizzling, cold rain fell continuously from early 
morning to evening, making the streets quite as com- 
fortable for walking as if quantities of mucilage mixed 
with moist clay had been spread over the pavement. 
We were staying very near the Duomo, in what Taine 
<;alls dead Pisa, but did not visit it, in the midst of its 
unique and attractive surroundings, until the following 
morning when the sun shone gloriously over the perfect 
Baptistery, the Leaning Tower, the Cathedral and the 
Campo Santo. As we watched the hanging lamp in 
front of the Cathedral chancel, we sighed that it had 
nothing to suggest to us as centuries ago it had for 
Galileo. In the Cathedral there are very beautiful 



118 

frescoes by Andrea del Sarto, pictures of St. John and 
St. Peter; 

This may be dead Pisa but it contains the perfec- 
tion of richness. Here our footsteps lingered 
before the realism of Orcagna in the Campo Santo, but 
longer by the gracefully designed pulpit of Pisano. 
We wandered into new Pisa, into the midst of the mar- 
ket where buying and selling were holding the attention 
of all. At a small booth near the centre of the market, 
sat a group of women. engaged in the process of plucking 
the feathers from live birds. The nearly featherless 
bipeds were making much noise, the women w^ere talking 
in loud, shrill tones, and the feathers were flying in all 
directions. It was not a subject for a painter, but for a 
poet whose figures should be bold enough to describe the 
shrill cries of these feather-extractors. 

Pisa is charmingly situated. It is not strange that it 
should have been the successful rival of Florence, but 
that it should have lost the supremacy. The Arno here 
is broad and rushes on merrily to the sea. As we stood 
upon one of the bridges, we saw upon the embankment, 
a delicate woman slowly toiling on and drawing a boat by 
a rope fastened about her shoulders and waist, while the 
husband sat in the boat and directed. 

Was it the superiority of his mind that gave him the 
position of ease and -her that of drudgery ? 



119 

On the left bank of the Arno, close by the water, 
stands a little church, in Gothic architecture, built from 
black and white marble. It was erected and is supported 
by the sailors of Pisa. We learned that the custom pre- 
vails that, whenever a sailor is about to start upon a 
prolonged voyage, he comes to this little church of St. 
Maria di Spina for confession and absolution. 

The university of Pisa still holds high rank as an 
institution of learning and numbers among its instruc- 
tors many of the finest scholars of the age. 

From Pisa to Genoa, in and out of tunnels, from 
repeated darkness into daylight, we journeyed rapidly. 
At Genoa, an elaborately finished statue of Columbus 
stands in the middle of the piazza in front of the rail- 
way station. 

Could he have foreseen the mighty people now occu- 
pying the land discovered by him, he would have been 
almost dismayed at his own presumption in daring to 
open the gate of entrance to the w^estern world. 

The fine silver work of Genoa is fascinating to the 
traveller who strolls leisur. ly through the street of silver- 
smiths. 

The magnificent harbor, filled with masts of vessels- 
from all parts of the world, makes evident the fact that 
this is one of the best ports in Southern Europe. Many 
elegant palaces, with rich furniture of antique design, 
are open to travellers, but the most interesting spot in 



120 

this ''city by the sea" is the Cathedral. Its structure is 
very odd, uniting harmoniously three kinds of architec- 
ture. The rich decorations of the Byzantine are made 
to accord with the large bays of the Romanesque, while 
the beautiful Triforium is finished in the Gothic arch. 
It is decorated in the interior very effectively in black and 
white marble. 

A short drive, through a charming bit of landscape 
took us one morning to the Campo Santo, filled with 
very realistic statues. What a burlesque of human life, 
its fashions and habits, is displayed here ! Grief loses 
its sanctity when paraded before crowds of unsympa- 
thetic visitors. Perhaps the most absurd design in the 
Campo Santo, is that of a figure above lifesize, in long flow- 
ing robes, with arms outspread, standing upoa a heap of 
bones, in front of which are placed the skull and cross 
bones. Beneath this figure is the inscription, Ossaarida, 
audite verhum Domini. 

Far more pleasing would be the cemetery, with naught 
save the green turf above its quiet sleepers, than this 
exhibition of private griefs, in lasting marble. 

After a brief rest at Genoa, we pursued our journey 
to Mentone, along the Riviera. 

In Mentone, simple existence is full of delight. 
Nature has Deen most bountiful in her gifts to this favored 
spot. An almost perfect climate, rich vegetation and 



121 

delightful scenery render this an idyllic place of resi- 
dence. 

A few of our party, desirous of seeing the reputed 
home of Polyphemus in the mountains, and of visiting 
the convent of the Capuchins, enjoyed with great zest the 
comfortable mode of locomotion, but one not entirely 
graceful, riding upon donkeys. 

The concierge^ who spoke English with a certain 
degree of ease but often employed peculiar expressions, 
wishing to please the young ladies, desired to know just 
<vhat sort of donkey was preferred Upon learning that 
one of the party wished to have an animal with some 
spirit, his face beamed with smiles and giving a jump, 
with a very significant backward gesture of the feet, he 
said, "0, yes, mademoiselle, you shall have a donkey 
that shfill go just like smoke, like smoke." A short 
time afterward our young lady began the ascent to the 
monaster}^ with the donkey that was to go like smoke. 
If a general friskiness, and a tendency to exercise his 
back feet in an upward gymnastic movement constituted 
the likeness to smoke, he possessed it. However, as the 
rider was courageous, she rather enjoyed her lively 
Jack. 

Far up on the hill side, stands the cemetery, arranged 
in close terraces with a chapel at the top, in front of 
which stands a graceful figure in white marble, by the 
side of a large white cross. 



122 

The dead are the sentinels of the city, in their tombs, 
which are like watch-towers far above the town. 

As we drove to Nice, a visit to Monte Carlo, gave us 
a glimpse of the fascinations gathered about a place that 
has attracted and ruined many from all parts of the 
world. 

A work in sculpture, a dancing girl, by Sara Bern- 
hardt, stands in the vestibule. It is very graceful and 
shows rare talent in the artist. 

Nice is in too great degree a resort for invalids, to be 
attractive to the strong and vigorous. We should feel 
compelled to adopt a bit of invalidism to be quite com- 
fortable there. 

Invalids to right, invalids to left, invalids in front, 
and invalids in the rear, invalids are everywhere. All 
persons may not object to a general air of invalidism, 
but to us, while not devoid of sympathy for the sufferers, 
a place less frequented by the afflicted would be prefer- 
able for a prolonged stay. A broad-sweeping view over 
the Mediterranean is obtained from Castle Hill, a height 
near the city, upon which formerly stood a fort that was 
demolished by the Duke of Berwick under Louis XIV., 
but now has a fountain that falls from the front of a 
stone platform surrounded by a balustrade, into a large 
basin many feet below. For off on the horizon may be 
seen Corsica, the birthplace of him to whom France owes 
much of her greatness and much of her woe. 



123 

The church-goers of our band, attended service at the 
American Episcopal Church and listened to an eloquent 
and learned sermon upon the text, The Destruction of 
Jerusalem. The able clergyman interested us in his 
work by a few earnest words and announced that the 
€orner-stone of the new church-building would be laid 
in the coming January. 

It is well that we cannot penetrate with certainty the 
mystery of the future. The terrible results of the earth- 
quake along the Riviera were then hidden from the 
knowledge of all humanity. That foundations should* 
be shaken from their position by a power beyond man's 
control, received no consideration. 

One of our party, a very interesting traveller, stayed 
at Nice while the remaining members, by train rapide^ 
departed for Marseilles and Paris. Those of our party, 
who visited Marseilles, experienced the mistral which 
was blowing with so great force, thit, if it had been kss 
intensely cold, we should hr.ve predicted a cyclone. In 
speaking to an old English resident of Marseilles, about 
the disagreeable wind, he remarked, ^'Yes, it is uncom- 
fortable until you are used to it." "Does it often blow 
in this way ?", was queried. ''Most of the time, most 
of the time,'' he replied. He added, " When it does not 
blow down the Rhone valley from the north and freeze 
us, it blows from the desert of the south and roasts us. 
You know, probably, that the sensation of freezing is the 



124 

same as that of burning 30 that there is no preference 
between our two conditions." 

A drive to the Palace de Longchamp would have been 
very enjoyable, in other condition of the elements, 
but when it is necessary to grasp firmly the sides 
of the carriage lest you share the fate of Phaeton, and 
a moment's forgetfulness causes the carriage wraps, 
loosened from your hold, to whirl down the streets with 
numberless articles of wearing apparel belonging to the 
unfortunate pedestrians, then is the the time when the 
beauties of a new city are not vividly presented. 

As the fierceness of the wind somewhat abated toward 
evening, a visit to the cathedral now building afforded^ 
from its plaee^ a fine view of the harbor, and Chateau d'lf, 
situated on an island, a few miles from the main land. 
One can not look upon this place of incarceration of 
Mirabeau, of the Man with the Iron Mask, of Dumas' 
Count de Monte Christo without recalling past reading 
and finding it difficult to determine which is truth and 
which is fiction. ^ 

Is not the history of Mirabeau as thrillingly romantic 
as that of Dumas' hero ? 

As the sun descended, a flood of golden and crimson 
light was poured around the islands and they appeared 
like mountains of gold rising from a mass of molten 
silver. 



125 

We turned from the ocean view to the Cathedra], 
from the wonderful painting of nature to the production 
of man, each gloriously beautiful. The marbles em- 
ployed in the Cathedral, have been brought from almost 
all of the countries of the globe, most of them are gifts 
from churches in different parts of the world. At a short 
distance from the harbor, in which were moored many ves- 
sels, there were several, above which floated the most 
beautiful flag in the world, the stars and stripes of our 
native land. In picturesque groups, along the quay,, 
were standing sailors in the costumes of various countries, 
and their tones rang out clear and full in the evening air. 
Thus must have sounded the voices of the builders of the 
Tower of Babel when occurred the Confusion of Tongues. 
A snatch of a merry nautical song in English, a chanson 
in high, clear tones, with French words, and bits of 
conversation in known and unknown tongues were heard. 

Across the harbor, stands, upon a promontory, the Im- 
perial Palace, now occupied as a Marine Hospital, the gift 
of the Empress Eugenie to the city of Marseilles. Far 
above the harbor, stands the church of Notre Dame de la 
G-arde, like a sentinel protecting the city below. In this 
church, it has been the custom, many years, for sailors 
to receive absolution before starting upon a long voyage^ 
and to ofi'er many gifts to Notre Dame upon the termin- 
ation of a successful trip. 

As Old Boreas did not stay his forces, we left the 
residents of Marseilles to suffer his anger, and pursued 



126 

ourjourney up the valley of the Khone. Did we fancy 
that we should escape the fierce North Wind ? It was 
a vain fancy, for fiercer, wilder were his blasts as we 
journeyed toward the north. 

"As windy as Avignon," is a common French say- 
ing. The papal palace and gardens are very beautiful, 
and are the chief attraction to the traveller. Here we 
touch again the history of Rienzi, and the decay of 
papal power. During those brilliant times for Avignon, 
Laura shone upon Petrarch like a far-off, radiant star. 
To us the little fountain of Vaucluse, and its associations 
with Italy's sweetest singer, had more attractions than 
aught else in the province of Comtat. 

A rich, agricultural district lies about the Rhone and 
the Saone, yet near the mouth of the Rhone, on the 
plains where, it is reported, occurred the contest between 
the Giants and the Gods, little of vegetation is seen. 

Nestled among the hills is the town of Orange, the 
seat of the family that was destined to play an important 
part in the government ot the Netherlands and England. 
It is a quiet town, bearing evidence of its strong forti- 
fications in the Middle Ages. 

This part of France has furnished to her own country 
many distinguished men. Many able artists, politicians, 
and soldiers, whose fame has been gained out side of 
France, have had their early homes in the valley of the 
Rhone and Saone. 



127 

As we approached Paris, we found that Jwpiter 
Pluvius held chief dominion over the spirits of earth 
and air, but Paris was gay and smiling although clouds 
lowered above and dampness was spread below. 



128 



CHAPTER XV. 

"Paris is so large that I can never know it," was the 
greeting of a distinguished American gentleman whom 
we met in the Louvre, and, during our comparatively 
brief visit, we accepted his decision as correct. Each 
day of our stay added the assurance that if we should 
remain many years, Paris would be but partially known. 

The city is like an April month, full of smiles and 
tears ; her moods are many, her caprices numerous and 
difficult to understand. She bewilders yet fascinates, 
tires yet charms him who attempts to study her charac- 
ter. 

We formed a small fraction of an immense congrega- 
tion in the church of St. Roque, Christmas' eve. With 
"reverential step and slow," that dense crowd passed, 
one by one, to receive the Sacred Wafer from the gray 
haired priest, or listened, with rapt attention to the 
music that seemed to bring all Heaven before their 
eyes. "Ring out the Old, Ring in the New," chimed the 
bells from many steeples, and a New Christmas dawned 
upon u-^. 

Wearied by long waiting, as the crowd still moved 
on toward the chancel rail, two of our company, 



129 

succeeded in withdrawing from the vast throig, and, 
in the small hours of the new day, stood upon the steps 
of the edifice, waiting for a carriage which did not 
arrive. "Excuse the slang, madam, but what a lark !" 
laughingly said the young lady as they started for the 
square near at hand. "Slang quite excusable, my dear, 
unless you mean to attach a pun, for we are veritable 
larks, even earlier than those of which Burns sings." 
By what means the arrival at the hotel was effected is a 
profound secret, but future Christmas Days will, by asso- 
ciation, bring amusing memories to the minds of the 
two midnight wanderers in Pari=i, on Christmas eve in 
1886. 

Christmas in Paris suggests much of gayety and 
pleasure, but there is only one place in which true 
holiday cheer warms the heart and in which echoes the 
song oi the Angels, "Peace on earth, good will to 
men," — that place is Home. 

The spot, "filled with shrines the heart hath buildftd," 
where are those whom we love and are in sympathy 
with our wishes and needs, is peculiarly dear to every- 
one at the season when is commemorated the birth of 
Him who came that we might know how great is the 
love divine. 

The exquisite service in the cathedral of ^otre Dame, 
where the beauty of coloring and the graceful curves of 
perfect architecture make a harmony so complete that a 



130 

grateful sense of restfulness unconsciously possesses one, 
is like a grand symphony of angelic voices. 

Setting aside the architectural rules, which require 
certain dimensions and proportions to render faultless 
any structure, there should always be necessary, for our 
entire satisfaction, a subordination of structure to use. 
The architect should stamp upon his work, as if in letters 
clear to all observers, the perfection of fitness. Every 
intelligent person should gain, through the eye, a feeling 
of contentment in the edifice designed for God's service. 
Notre Dame possesses this in a very great degree, and 
is, for this reason, one of the most nearly perfect Gothic 
Cathedrals in the old World. 

Are all lovers of Westminster satisfied with it as a 
House of Worship ? To us, as a grand mausoleum, it is 
full of absorbing interest; as a. historic study, it is in- 
valuable with its records, in chapel and statue, of its 
builders and benefactors ; as an architectural result 
simply, it receives and is worthy of much admiration; 
but as a church building, it is in our opinion a failure. 
We are conscious that we differ, in this opinion, from 
almost all others who h^ve worshipped in this sanctuary. 
Perhaps, among the many, there may be a few who, like 
ourselves, prefer the breadth and open spaces of the 
Romanesque structures, to the smaller arches of the 
Gothic ; and even among the admirers of the Gothic and 
its various modified forms, there may be those who enjoy 



131 

more the open style of Notre Dame than the high, 
narrow forms of Westminster. 

In the cathedral of Notre Dame, a recently placed 
statue of the Archbishop who was murdered by the 
Communists, is extremely fine. At the base of the 
statue were placed, on Christmas morning, masses of 
blue violets, whose soft tints of color took on themselves 
a Yv^armer tone as they rested against the pure white 
marble, while their fragrance bespoke the tenderness of 
the hearts that reverently held in memory his great 
self-sacrifice. 

As the soft, melodious tones of the organ melted 
through the spaces of the church we stepped out into 
the glad sunshine, and admired the imposing fa§ade, 
then strolled around the building that we might see it 
from all points. Close by the house of God, is the house 
of the dead. It is fittingly placed beneath the shadow 
of the building dedicated to Him whose mercy is with- 
out end. 

Of the three bodies lying unclaimed, unrecognized in 
the Morgue, one was that of a man well dressed, with 
shapely, well-kept hands and features regular and 
haughty in their form. He was a r/ian who, in the 
vigor of life, must have been a handsome, fearless spirit, 
born to command or, failing that, to die. As strangers 
passed carelessly by, looked for a moment at the faces of 
the dead, made, unconcernedly, some remark upon the 



132 

dress or appearance of them, we wondered what over- 
whelming grief had crushed the manly spirit of him who, 
with the likeness of a gentleman, lay there, like the 
meanest serf, to be gazed at by an unfeeling crowd. This 
was mortality ; within Notre Dame we had listened to 
glowing words on i j'mortality. Darkness and light were 
here side by side. 

In sober mood, we walked to the Hotel de Ville, re- 
stored in the style of the former one destroyed 
during the Revolution. Beautiful and peaceful as this 
square rests at present, tumultuous ^storms send their 
echoes from this locality, down through the years of the 
past. Here gathered the women in 1789, Carlyle's 
^'ludicro — terrific and ^ most unmanageable Judiths. 
Through ail rooms and cabinets, upwards to the topmost 
belfrey ; ravenous, seeking arms, seeking Mayors, seek- 
ing justice. They find m the belfry Abbe Lefevre. 
Him, for want of a better, they suspend there, in the 
pale morning light, over the top of all Paris, which 
swims in one's failing eyes ; a horrible end ? Nay the 
rope broke, as French ropes often did ; or else an 
Amazon cut it. Abbe Lefevre falls, and lives long 
years after, though always with a tremhlement in the 
limbs." Here again during the socialistic uprising, 
came a second destruction of this structure dating from 
the time of Henry IV., which, like the Phoenix, has 
risen now glorious and beautiful. Will it again sink 
beneath the wild surges of an infuriated mob ? 



133 

A stroll along the Rue de Rivoli, ending in a visit to 
the Madeleine, in which a vast crowd of people listened 
to an orator, eloquent and vehement, sufficed for the 
afternoon until the hour for dinner. 

''Do let us order something distinctively American, 
for Chri.-,tmas dinner," was the expressed wish of one of 
our party and pumpkin pie, regarded as quite American, 
was ordered. 

We discussed the relative merits of different sorts of 
pie and why pimpkin pie has a st^rong claim upon the 
New England heart, as we were served to the different 
courses of elegantly prepared viands, previous lo the 
reception of the desired '*pie.'" When at last a neat, 
little tart was placed in front of each of our party, in- 
stead of the sector-shaped piece of pastry ordered, some 
one asked, "When will the pumpkin pie be served?" 
The waiter, perfectly conversant with English, looked 
for a momeni at mademoiselle as one would look at a 
painter who failed to know the use of a palette, and then 
said, *'This is pumpkin pie, mademoiselle, made just for 
your party." 

The facial expressions of disgust and disappointment, 
mingled with intense amusement, were very perplexing 
to the astonished waiter. In order that we might not be 
condemned for excessive rudeness, our good doctor ex- 
plained to the perplexed assistant what an American 
pumpkin pie is in appearance, if not in composition, and 



134 

half-satisfied, half-annoyed, the obliging head waiter 
watched us as we broke apart the delicate pastry. 

A faint suspicion of the presence of pumpkin, in the 
spoonful of the jelly-like substance in the centre, was 
given by the odor and confirmed by the flavor. 

The old advice, "Learn to be cosmopolitan in your 
diet," is very excellent for the traveller. He who would 
have American dishes in a foreign land will be thorough- 
ly disappointed, if he leave the preparation of the same 
to a foreign cook. 

The days move on so rapidly in Paris, that no one is 
permitted to be a laggard. Well for the visitor, if she 
possess great receptive power, otherwise but a moie- 
ty of the treasures of Literature, Science and Art 
can be examined in aught but a very prolonged stay. 

The perfect day for us in this city of many changes, 
was that in which we drove through the Champs Elysees, 
resting for a moment near the triumphal Arch of 
Napoleon, to the beautiful Bois de Boulogne, re- 
turning by the Field of Mars and remaining to study 
the perfect gem of Architecture, La petite maison de 
Marguerite. 

The Louvre is extensive in its gorgeous magnificence, 
and well designed courts; the Hotel des Invalides is 
very grand as the mausoleum of the great French hero ; 
the Palais de Justice, with its Sainte Chapelle con- 
taining rich glass of harmonious hues, is exceedingly 



135 

interesting, but none of these, nor any other building 
in Paris, is so perfect in the satisfaction given to the 
beholder as the little house built by Francis I., at 
Fontainebleau, for his dearly loved sister. Marguerite, 
the author of The Heptameron. A few years ago it was 
moved, stone by stone, with great care and placed 
w^here it now stands near the Champs-Elysees. It is 
a fine example of the best Renaissance architecture; 
it is, in truth, a "thing of beauty." 

A day at Versailles, we found fully occupied and en- 
joyed. The splendors of the palace, the vast display of 
wealth in the artificial arrangement of the garden, in 
themselves, are wearisome, they only please as they are 
full of suggestive thought of a brilliant past, but the 
Little Trianon, with its crowd of reminiscences con- 
nected with the charming Swiss village, where a proud, 
beautiful queen, trained with false notions of life, an 
autocrat of an autocrati ; race, tried to find the sim- 
plicity of real, peasant homes, is like an idyl. Graceful 
ferns droop from almost every crevice of the little Swiss 
cottages, as if they would hold in memory the bright 
scenes enacted there by those brilliant masqueraders. 
All is quiet there now, no sound save those of the birds 
and insects in the wood. It is almost painful, it is like 
hushed music of tender melody. 

"It is the little rift, within the lute, 
That by and by will make the music mute." 



136 

Poor, unhappy Marie Antoinnette ! It was a "little 
rift within the lute" that silenced the music of her life. 

The larger Trianon, the favorite residence of Madame 
Maintenon, although despoiled of almost all that made 
it peculiarly fitted for her, is wortliy of careful exami- 
nation. Her earnest, strong character has made for 
herself a place in French history, won by few women. 

A short distance fromVersailles, may be seen St. Cyr, 
now a military sch )ol, where Madame Maintenon es- 
tablished a school for Young Ladies, and where she 
died, milking her only claim to the royalty which was 
her just due, by demanding and receiving a seat at the 
table for widowed queens. 

Paris and environs have not the antiquity of Rome, 
but they have a charm exclusively their own. 

Woman has exerted so great influence in the French 
government, there has been so much of delicate intrigue 
directed by her that French history has an element of 
romance that renders it extremely fascinating, and 
everywhere, in the vicinity of Paris, there is something 
associated with the memory of les grandes dames. 

"Is any one ever more ready to leave Paris than 
Rome?" was the pertinent question proposed by one of 
our party as we gathered our packages together, 
preparatory to our departure. No affirmative response 
was heard as with evident reluctance we started for the 
land where the Anglo Saxon is the dominant race. 



137 



CHAPTER XVI. 

We were asked, during a short stay in New York^ 
"Is crossing the English channel a theme that might 
serve as the subject of a poem ?" 

"Was our interrogator in a sane condition ?" was the 
query that flashed through our mind. "Subject for a 
poem ?" we repeated, and further demanded, "What 
poems have you been reading recently?" "I have just 
been studying Dante's Inferno," was the reply. "The 
fitness of your question is perceptible. Whether an 
Epic, upon the subject proposed, might not be regarded 
as somewhat mock-heroic, is uncertain. But without 
doubt many an American traveller could write feelingly 
upon the theme." The horror of Dante seated upon 
Geryon, well represents thri.t of one borne over the 
tumultuous waves between Franco and England. 

"OnAvard he goeth, swimming slowly, slowly ; 
Wheels and descends, but I perceive it only 
By wind upon my face and from below. 
I heard already on the right the whirlpool 
Making a horrible crashing under us, 
Whence I thrust out my head with eyes cast downward, 
Then was I still more fearful of the abyss." 

This part of the journey one does not care to recall 
frequently. It has gone, let it go. 



138 

Smoky London is a haven of rest for the first twenty- 
four hours after the passage of the channel. A London 
fog greeted us upon our arrival and remained to give us 
effects in the obscure, during most of our stay. 

To go out sight-seeing, enveloped in a cloud of inky 
•t)lackness, which permits only a faint glimmering of the 
street lights to be visible, is not very prolific in good 
results. We presented ourselves one raw cold morning, 
at the National Gallery when the fog "had lifted" so 
that objects ten feet distant could be dimly outlined. "Not 
open," was the brief address of the official, "Will not be 
open until fog lifts." "When will it lift?" "Not possible 
to tell, perhaps in an hour, perhaps not to-day." A 
similar reply greeted us at the Museum. 

It seemed to us that the acceptance of the fog as an 
established condition simply demonstrated the English- 
man's passivity in the inevitable. Old Dr. Sam Johnson 
never saw Fleet street nor the Strand, nor the thousand 
interestingly shabby corners in the vicinity of the Fish 
Market, through a denser fog than that through which we 
passed. On Sunday morning, we attended service at St. 
Margaret's where, as part of a congregation that filled 
every seat and aisle, we listened to Canon Farrar. 

The sermon was one of those that once heard are 
never forgotten. 

As the text, "If ye do well, shall ye not be accepted?" 
was pronounced with great distinctness, every listener 
seemed eager to hear the answer to the question stated. 



139 

When asked, "What is the charm in Cancn Farrar's 
preaching?" it was difficult to reply, in definite terms. 
* He is no great orator, but there is evident an under- 
lying current of enthusiasm with every thought, which 
bears it to the mind of the hearer with powerful force. 

His quiet, simple manner is very effective in its 
naturalness, and his gentle earnestness is a strong, 
persuasive power. 

That he means what he says is evident to the most 
careless member of his congregation. 

On Sunday afternoon, two of us went to St. Paul's to 
attend vesper service. The misty cloud had entered the 
Cathedral, so that no object, removed ten feet from the 
beholder, could be recognized. We occupied seats with- 
in a short distance of the chancel. The lights were like 
stars glimmering in the dim distance, and the white 
robed priests moving slowly to and fro, were shadowy, 
ghost-like shapes that had only a semblance to beings 
corporeal. When the choristers chanting the procession- 
al, passed t') their places, it was as if airy forms, flitting 
through the clouds, burst into rapturous praise of "Him, 
all love excelling." The high, rich voices, filling all 
the dome with a grand accord of sweet sounds, were like 
those to which St. Cecilia listened. 

We forgot, in this "concord of sweet sounds," our 
annoyance at our inability to see the beautiful archi- 
tecture and statuary of the church. 



140 

It was the golden haze of Murillo, combined with the 
dense mist that Turner handles with masterly skill. 
When the able Canon, whose form could be indistinctly 
marked, began to speak from the pulpit, in rich, full 
tones, it was like the voice of inspiration from out the 
clouds. 

The effect was almost startling. 

A breathless silence held the vast concourse of people 
whose presence was felt^ not seen. 

The speaker's last words of admonition were hardly 
uttered when the choir burst into glorious harmony in an 
anthem of wondrous beauty. 

As we slowly left the church, passing from the dim 
whiteness within to the dense blackness without, there 
was indeed darkness everywhere. An iT/jpenetrable, 
mysterious, ghostly envelope surrounded every thing. 
We left the carriage near Westminster bridge, when sud- 
denly the fog, like wreaths of dense smoke, rolled slowly 
upward and was dissipated in the higher air. The gold- 
en rays of the setting sun shone directly upon the 
Parliament buildings, making a brilliant picture in 
high lights and deep shadows. '-The sunset gates" were 
for a moment unbarred. 

There is so much in London in which the American 
has a deep interest of ancestral ownership, that his foot- 
steps linger in by-ways and half-foi gotten nooks. The 



141 

Tower is a spot where cluster many of his fond imagin- 
ations. He involuntarily shuts his eyes before the 
hideous equestrian effigy of Queen Elizabeth and seeks 
other spots, where only a name indicates whose footsteps 
may have strayed in sorrow there. 

Lovers of Dore fail not to visit his gallery. The 
Dream of the Young Monk is a very fascinating work. 

"The musing organist first lets his fingers wander as 
they will," and o'er his bridge from dreamland comes a 
beautiful maiden who lovingly hovers about the young 
novice as, with averted eyes, he puts his whole soul into 
the improvisation. 

It is a very satisfactory arrangement of Dore's works. 
For the student and lover of this artist to have in 
one collection almost all of his works, from his earliest 
to his latest pictures, gives fine opportunity for com- 
plete examination of his peculiar excellencies. 

Turner at his best and Turner at his worst may be 
recognized at the National Gallery. 

The companion pieces of Claude and Turner are 
happy examples of' the best manner of each. 

We are taught by critics that Sir Joshua Reynolds is 
faulty in drawing, but we acknowledge ourselves to have 
so great affection for Sir Joshua that his wonderful color- 
ing covers all defects in outline. There is something 
very lovable in all that has been produced by his hand. 
Even the portrait of Dr. Sam Johnsop, shows the dog- 



142 

tor's goodness, his real kindness of heart, rather than 
the ugly features of an unpleasing exterior. He paints, 
as Shakespeare writes, from the inside out. Charming, 
mischievous, wicked Puck, with his facile hand grasping 
a few blossoms of love in-idleness, looks from Sir 
Joshua's canvas where, seated upon a . toad-stool, he 
seems ready to depart upon any errand that promises 
intrigue or misfortune to others. 

With consummate skill, Landseer suggests human 
traits in his pictures of the lower animals. In Alex- 
ander and Diogenes, the one is every inch a monarch, 
the other, the surly old philosopher in the canine race. 
A strange burlesque upon the ruling passions of 
humanity is represented in this picture by Landseer. 

The museums, galleries, club-houses, historic centres, 
and famous literary localities, one must visit in haste if 
he be limited in time, but he reserves ample leisure for 
Westminster Abbey "with her glorious dead." Irving's 
graphic pen has given so perfect description of the beau- 
ties found here, that no one else can hope to interest the 
reader in a plain description. 

Starting from the plain, blue stone which marks the 
grave of Ben Jonson, and visiting the poet's corner, we 
were among a brilliant assembly of those whose feet have 
strayed to other shores but -syhose words still glow with 
immortality. 



143 

Since the attempt to destroy Westminster with dyna- 
mite, no permission is granted to any one to visit the 
chapels alone. It detracts from the real enjoyment to 
be obliged to pass with a party through the beautiful 
chapels, conducted by a guide whose office is to describe 
in monotonous rapidity, every tomb, with a sketch of the 
life of its occupant. Every intelligent traveller, wdio 
visits a renowned cathedral, is prepared to enjoy its 
principal objects of worth. To study them without 
assistance from a guide, is of much greater satisfiiction 
than any directed sight-seeing can be. 

One steps reverently in the "poets' corner," where 
lie those who have won for England her greatest glory. 
Here rests he, "who sang the morning song of 
Albion's land," and, by his side, others, who riave 
not let the music become mute, have been laid in 
their last sleep. 

No epitaph, replete with ornate words of praise, could 
convey more worthy commendation than the simple 
expression with its many associations, " 0, rare Ben 
Jonson." 

In the chill of a dreary January morning, when the 
pavements were covered with sleet, rendering them very 
slippery, so that our cabman insisted that his horses 
could move only with slow and steady tread, we left 
London. Dreary, smoky, foggy London, but the Lon- 
don of our many friends who give us choice entertainment 



144 

in the quiet hours spent in our library. The friends 
who are ever ready to respond to any mood, who offer 
no unkind criticism and often persuade us to perform 
valorous deeds. Authors live again in their works and 
become valued companions of the millions whose respons- 
ive natures echo the written words glowing upon the 
pages of the past. 

A railway ride from London to Liverpool, in midwin- 
ter, is quite as stupid as anything that could be devised. 
With a carpet of snow covering every thing outside, and 
an imperfectly heated car, even the vicinity of Rugby, 
or the home of George Eliot fails to arouse much in- 
terest. 

When a foreign tour approaches its end, there comes 
the intense desire to go on shipboard as quickly as pos- 
sible, to make very brief the last visits and prepare for 
the inevitable siege with the briny god. When we ar- 
rived in Liverpool, the day had become clear and bright, 
and wc enjoyed making our last English purchases, 
and securing the various articles that had been recom- 
mended as sure preventives of sea-sickness. 

Here let the reader pause and recall the various 
remedies, that have been suggested to her, for sea-sick- 
ness. Let her cross tne Atlantic once, and her dozen 
remedies will become almost numberless, for every 
traveller proposes a new one, and, like many patent 
medicines, they cure every one theoretically, but no 
one practically. 



145 



CHAPTER XVII. 

We left Liverpool when, 

"All around earth, air,and water, were content and nature smiled." 

A clear, sunny day, with a quiet sea, favored us 
from Liverpool to Queenstown. As we were anchored 
in the Irish harbor, waiting for the mail, before us was 
the emerald isle in a turquoise sea and above bent a dome 
of perfect blue. 

The coast of Ireland, at this point, is very beautiful. 
A few towers in ruins, little cottages nestling in a mass 
of green, and the extremely well arranged fortifications 
of the city, make a picture very pleasing to the eye. 
Soon the bum boats, with many a Little Buttercup, 
came alone side. The steerage passengers drew the 
women, with their wares, up to the lower deck, by means 
of a strong ro'.3e, in a loop of which sat, in turn, each 
merchant with her articles of traffic. Speedily the deck 
was spread with a motley array. Irish laces, hand- 
embroideries, box-wood carvings, shillelahs (these were 
quickly purchased by very quiet, and harmless looking 
travellers), oranges, apples, milk, etc., were exchanged 
for English money. 



146 

One quaint, little, old Celtic woman, with several 
pots of shamrock, showed her poverty and misery, in her 
eagerness to sell what she had. The scanty clothing, 
the wasted limbs, the happiness at the reception of the 
smallest coin betrayed to the observer a very pathetic 
story. Poverty in middle life appears not so woeful as 
in old age, when the comforts of life are almost essential. 

When the mail bags were transferred to the steamer, 
and the Irish women, uttering many a "God bless ye" 
upon those who had favored them, were lowered into 
their boats, we turned our prow southward and were 
soon moving swiftly on to find the broad Atlantic. A 
few hours of steady motion passed, when, almost without 
warning, we were in the midst of a terrific gale. 

All the elements were in mad career. The waves 
rushed higher and higher, with each successive blast 
from Coins' cave, as if they sought to mingle with the 
clouds in a wild embrace. Our bark seemed very frail 
to cross a roaring, raging sea. Day followed day, and 
yet the sto'^m continued in its intensity. 

After seven weary days, any one of which would have 
afforded a second Lord Bacon a desire to be bound to the 
mast, the storm abated and the sun shone once more 
upon a quiet sea. 

A weary, forlorn yet grateful company assembled upon 
deck. Smiling faces soon succeeded those filled with 
anticipated fears, and merry voices were eagerly de- 



147 

scribing the ludicrous situations in the state-rooms 
during the tempest. 

For the remaining days, with the air, freighted with a 
delightful saltness, and rich in ozone, it was pure delight 
to stroll about the deck, bask in the sunlight and enjoy 
a lazy existence. 

Among our fellow passengers, was one who had the 
rare gift of telling a story well, and we, who were 
better listeners than talkers, were content to hear his 
tales, and even enjoy a joke at our own expense when he 
chose to relate amusing and, at the same time, annoying 
anecdotes which end in an interrogation, and which we 
invariably answered as our shrewd and merry hearted 
story teller wished. 

The happy hours like birds flew by, as they ever 
will on board a well ordered ship, with a captain who 
uses every possible endeavor to make his passengers 
comfortable and to furnish them with enjoyment. 

The Captain of the City of Chester is one of nature's 
noblemen, a perfect sailor, a "manly man" and a 
Christian gentleman. 

As signs of land began to appear, and a stiff breeze 
greeted us from a frozen shore, a visible exhilaration 
possessed our company. 

Our bright, piquante brunette, whose rare musical 
accomplishments had afforded much pleasure, uttered 



148 

sparkling ho7is mots which roused us all to a high degree 
of enthusiasm. 

Through the dim, evening twilight, we saw the lights 
of New York shining before us. Notwithstanding 
the bitterly cold wind that now swept about us, we re- 
mained on deck until, near midnight, we dropped anchor 
to wait for morning light. 

Almost home ! There is an unlimited pleasure in 
visiting scenes new to us, in studying the customs of 
people foreign to ourselves, and in enjoying the products 
of the history and art of the past, but that pleasure is 
heightened tenfold when a trip for study and pleasure 
ends, when the circuit is complete, and the dear home 
faces smile upon us as before, amid our own surround- 
ings. 



